


None Like Her

by DaniStormborn



Series: Dunwall City Stories [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3075494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniStormborn/pseuds/DaniStormborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Venetica Galvani, the daughter of renowned vivisectionist Dr. Gregoir Galvani, is a close confident and a good friend to the Empress Jessamine. After accepting a proposal put forth by the Empress and her Lord Protector, Venetica finds herself lost in a world that she suddenly doesn't recognize. When Fate brings her and the Knife of Dunwall together in an awkward first meeting that quickly escalates from there, can Venetica find the one thing with Daud that she could never find before? Or will she be doomed to stay lost forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> You know, one thing that steams my broccoli is the disappointing amount of Daud/OC Female fics and Martin/OC Female fics (Martin/Callista fics too are in a desperate short supply). I'm here to remedy that for you guys. This is Down by the River, a fic between Daud and my OC, Venetica. So please, read, enjoy and most importantly -- leave me those reviews! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, one thing that steams my broccoli is the disappointing amount of Daud/OC Female fics and Martin/OC Female fics (Martin/Callista fics too are in a desperate short supply). I'm here to remedy that for you guys. This is "None Like Her", a fic between Daud and my OC, Venetica. So please, read, enjoy and most importantly -- leave me those reviews! :)
> 
> Cast List (Those Not Found In Game):  
> Venetica Galvani: Victoria Justice  
> Thomas (Masked Whaler from BW): Jaime Bell

* * *

 

_“When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all right," we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie: "I'll never leave you." And for just a moment or two the darkness doesn't seem so bad.”_

_― Neil Gaiman, Neil Gaiman's Midnight Days_

_"Well, look who I ran into!" crowed Coincidence._

_"Please," flirted Fate, "This was meant to be."_

* * *

 

 

At first, Venetica didn’t know if the Empress was joking or not, when she first heard her proposal. But as she awkwardly stood there and watched the expressionless look appear on the Empress Jessamine Kaldwin’s face, as well as on that of the Lord Protector Corvo Attano, she realized that she hadn’t been joking. Quite the contrary, she was being frighteningly serious.

 

“So what say you, Lady Venetica?”

 

Venetica jumped at the sound of the Empress’ voice, and it was then that she reluctantly turned her eyes onto her. She shook her head in bewilderment. “My Lady, forgive me, but this . . . this is a matter that cannot be taken lightly! It cannot be decided on in just a few moment’s thought!”

 

The Empress smiled kindly and nodded. She stepped towards her, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. When she reached her, her hands outstretched towards her and reflexively, Venetica took them. That same kind smile remained on Jessamine’s face as she held her hands tightly but not in a mean way. If it was possible, there was also a . . . gentleness to how the Empress was holding her hands, that made the frantic pounding of her heart, ease away somewhat.

 

“And I understand that well, Lady Venetica. And it is only with the utmost respect and affection that I come to you with this proposal. You are one of my most trusted ladies, and – I hope, anyways – one of my dearest friends.” Venetica could only nod meekly in return.

 

“And . . . and I think the same of you, my Lady. But a-a _marriage_ , it is . . . while I am flattered to have been thought of, nevertheless, it is still something that cannot be decided on lightly! I must converse with my father – garner his opinion – then weigh it against my own. Please, I beg of you – give me a little more time!”

 

Jessamine pursed her lips and released her hands, only for them to clasp in front of stomach again. She turned a pointed gaze onto Corvo, who was standing silently behind her, his strong arms crossed in front of his chest. At her look, he stepped forward and gave her a small smile. “Do what you must, Lady Venetica, but know that I would gladly and graciously take you as my wife. There is no women in the court who is as beautiful as you . . .”

 

She knew the honeyed words dripping from his lips, was a lie. There was indeed a woman in the court prettier than she was, and that was the woman standing in front of her. It was the woman he loved above all others – the woman who she would never be able to compete with and the woman who would cause him to forsake their marriage bed – not out of cruelty, but because that was where his heart would long for him to be. This wasn’t a marriage made for love – it was one of necessity. It was one made to quash the quickly growing rumors in the court – rumors that the Princess Emily was really Corvo Attano’s. This was a marriage made out of necessity, before people discovered the rumors were true and that the mysterious, handsome Morley diplomat that had visited Dunwall that one hot, balmy summer eight years ago, was _not_ Princess Emily’s true father.

 

A tight smile appeared on her face and she allowed him to brush his lips across the back of her hand, that same charming smile on his face. She would indeed return home and talk to her father about the proposal put in front of her by the Empress – it would only be what was expected of her. Even so, she knew it would be a futile gesture. She knew immediately when she heard the proposal and its explanation fall from her lips, what Venetica would say. She would agree to her proposal, not because she felt like she owed the Empress something (even though she owed her more than she could possibly give her) or even because she had long harbored an unrequited crush on the handsome Serkonan Lord Protector. No, she would agree to the Empress’ proposal for one simple, frustrating reason:

 

She was too much of a coward to tell her no.

                                                                                    

* * *

 

Her mother had not once called her a coward. Her mother had many clichés that she would use to describe her daughter and only child. As pretty as a beautiful spring morning, as sweet as sugar . . . eventually those clichés would dissolve into simple adjectives: intelligent, compassionate, kind . . . but not once did her mother loop those words in with ‘coward’.

 

‘Coward’ had been a term that Venetica had penned for herself. Her mother had been a strong woman – strong and hardy until she succumbed to a disease Sokolov told them was ‘cancer’ – a disease that Academy physicians did not have much treatment for and certainly not a cure. It had been cancer of the uterus, brought about by the hard birth that had given her both Venetica and then the subsequent sterility. Once she had it, it felled her quickly. Much too quickly.

 

Isabel Galvani _had_ to have been strong in order to have worked as a lady to the Empress Beatrix, the Empress Jessamine’s mother, for as long as she had. It was that same strength and iron will, that had endeared her to the Empress so, until she succeeded in reaching the same status that Venetica had reached with the Empress’ daughter: a confident and good friend. She had been strong enough to survive a shaky change in regime when the Emperor Euhorn succeeded to the throne on the assassinated coattails of the previous Empress Larisa. She had been strong enough to survive the ruination of her family when she married Venetica’s father, Gregoir Galvani, a doctor and vivisectionist drastically below her station, and who she had married for love – entirely unheard of at the time. Her family had been saved by the good graces of the Empress Beatrix, leaving the woman very much in her debt.

 

She had to have been strong enough to survive the hard birth that given her Venetica but which took away her ability to have any more children, something that had crippled her for years.

 

She had survived all those years and all those events, only to be felled by a _disease_.

 

When faced with that, how could Venetica _not_ call herself a coward? Or maybe . . . maybe ‘coward’ was the wrong word. Maybe it was as simple as her and Jessamine being two completely different people who had somehow managed to build a loving, friendly relationship. And while growing up beside Jessamine, the differences between the two girls had been even more apparent. While Jessamine was quick to grab her father’s pistol and allow him to teach her how to shoot, Venetica was more interested in learning the fine points of needlepoint from her mother and the Empress Beatrix. While Jessamine had no problems leaping from stone wall to stone wall, or from any high surface, laughing as she went, Venetica was more content to keep her feet planted firmly on the ground unless she was galloping across the meadows of Gristol on the back of a horse. The only times the two girls shared something in common, was when they were met with confrontation. When that happened, both girls would become the two most headstrong, stubborn girls the whole of Gristol had never seen before.

 

So yes, maybe ‘coward’ was the wrong term. In this instance, however, it was particularly apt, she thought. She was too cowardly to turn down the Empress’ proposal because she was afraid of offending her. Rarely, had she and the Empress ever fought, but when they did, the enmity between them had a tendency to last for months. She didn’t want to risk that – not now, not really ever again. So yes, she would accept the proposal despite the advice of her father. She just hoped she wouldn’t rue the decision.    

 

It was this very same reason – her desire to be submissive instead of dominating and to take the easy path instead of the hard one – that constantly made her wonder _why_ Daud had found her attractive enough to garner his attentions. And while he had certainly been the cause of her finally growing a thicker backbone, it had taken months for even the foundations of that new backbone to grow. Why had Daud stuck around for that long?

 

What had the man seen in her?

                                                                                    

* * *

 

She sat on the leather bench in the warm cable car, hands wrapped up in the furry muff that lay on her lap. It was winter at that time of year – wet and cold and slushy and overall miserable. Thin, brittle sheets of ice had formed on top of the Wrenhaven, giving the river an icy, foreboding appearance. It was at these times during the year, that she loathed not having an apartment in the palace. And while Jessamine had offered her many times to give her one, it was one of those rare situations where she had always turned her down. She loved where she lived already – the Galvani manor on John Clavering Boulevard with its big, warm rooms and walls covered with expensive paintings and taxidermied animals from far away. She loved coming home and walking into her father’s cluttered lab, only to see the tall, lanky man with slicked back white hair, bending over the corpse of a dissected rat, eye rapt and pen scribbling furious notes in his journal. When he would catch sight of her, a grin would immediately spread across his face. He would push himself off of the table he would be hunched over, only to hold out his arms to her and say, “Welcome home, pup!” before bringing her into a tight hug.

 

Years later, they left Dunwall for the fertile, warm lands of Morley – the both of them bone tired of all the rats and the plague and the violence. After they left with their relationship cemented enough for her to begin to feel comfortable in the stability of it, Venetica would often wonder what her father would think of her relationship with Daud. They had left before she could ask him . . . ask him what he thought of the tall, muscular man who she shared a vineyard with and two children with, but not a last name. The question plagued her always.

 

Eventually, the rail car came to a smooth halt, dragging her from the thoughts she had been submerged in since her meeting with the Empress and Lord Protector. The door slid open with a fluidity that suggested being well-oiled, and a gust of cold wind. She shivered as she stepped down from the car into the frigid Dunwall air. Briskly, she set off down the street for the Galvani manor, pulling her fur coat closer around her to ward off the biting chill. She heard the footsteps of her silent guard behind her and didn’t stop. She didn’t when a group of laughing children spilled around them, nor when a group of Overseers marched past them with a cuffed woman walking in-between the first two. Her hair was lank, her clothing was ragged and ripped, her feet bare and black. However, Venetica ignored her, as most people did when confronted with those in the custody of the Overseers.

 

She kept up the same pace to the manor’s front door and when she reached it, she gave a smile to the guard and dismissed him. He returned her smile and inclined his head to her before taking his leave of her to return to the palace.

 

She quickly entered the manor, giving a sigh of relief when the cold sunk from her bones, only to be replaced with the heat from the large fireplace on the second floor that performed the job of heating the whole manor. Moving past the glass display cases in the front hall, she climbed the stairs to the second. After placing her coat and muff in her room, she then climbed the stairs to the third, where her father was most likely working away in his laboratory.

 

That was exactly where she found him. Knocking gently on the glass door, he looked up, saw her, and grinned. Motioning her inside, she entered and closed the door behind her as he made his way over to her, arms outstretched. “Welcome home, pup!” He spoke and she gave him a small smile as she allowed her father to wrap her up in a tight embrace. She stood there, reveling in it and feeling like a little girl for the first time in years. Oh, how much she wished she could hide behind her father’s legs like she used to – have him fight her battles for her. But he couldn’t and _she_ couldn’t. The most she could ask of him nowadays was for his advice, which what she was going to do at that moment.

 

“Can I ask for your advice, father?” She asked, and he nodded as they broke apart.

 

“Of course. Here, have a seat.” He motioned to the chair sitting across from him and the dissected rat sitting in front of him, and she obliged him. After moving the stainless steel dissecting tray out of the way, he took a seat too and gave her his full attention. His chin was propped in his palm on the table. She took a deep breath to calm herself before launching into the proposal Jessamine had put forth to her that day and when she was done, Dr. Galvani’s eyebrows were threatening to disappear up into his hairline.

 

“Well now! That is quite the proposal, pup!” She nodded, looking apprehensive.

 

“What should I do?”

 

Dr. Galvani sat there for a moment, thinking. When he was done, he heaved a sigh, as well as I shrug. “I don’t know,” He began slowly. “That is up to you. Your mother and I, we married for love, not for . . . status or-or _wealth_. I was just a lowly doctor when we married, and the prestige I have now was based on the love the Empress Beatrix had for your mother. That and the rather long history I had with Vera Moray, also set me apart. So really, I cannot tell you what to do because Isabel and I were never in that situation. It’d be different if you loved Corvo. _Do_ you love Corvo, Venetica?”

 

Venetica released a bark of laughter that told him all he needed to know. “Love him? How can I love him, father, when I barely even know him? He hasn’t said more than three words to me since Jessamine and I would twelve!”

 

Dr. Galvani adopted an amused tint to his eyes then. “Then why in all of the void, are you contemplating marrying a man you don’t love? What happens when you find the man you’re destined to fall head over heels with? What then? You can’t marry him so you’ll be forced to turn him down. Why make yourself do that?”

 

Venetica adopted an ‘are-you-serious?’ look on her face. “I’m contemplating this because Jessamine _needs_ me to, father --!”

 

Dr. Galvani let out a snort of laughter. “Jessamine _needs you to_ , eh? No she doesn’t. She’s just discovered that rumors can be quite the pain in the hindquarters – rumors that _she_ gave the fodder to, might I add!” He waved his hand through the air. “Jessamine made her bed, pup. Let her lie in it in peace. Take my advice and you save yourself for the man you love. He’ll come along eventually.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't updated this in a long while -- life just happened and I totally lost the drive to write. Hope this chapter more than makes up for my absence :)
> 
> And remember: hit the review button! It helps out a lot!
> 
> \-- DaniStormborn

* * *

 

“Have you come to a decision yet?”

 

Venetica stiffened at the Empress’ words spoken on a kind tongue, although she could nevertheless sense the iron that lay underneath them. It had been two months since the Empress had set the proposal down in front of her, and two months in which Venetica had not given her answer. She knew the Empress was getting anxious, but she still did not know what to do. She had no other friends to speak of (not in the traditional sense of the word, anyway; and especially none she trusted with this sort of thing), so normally when a situation like this arose, she would talk it over with Jessamine like they had since they were girls. They would then come to a logical solution that best benefitted _her_. In this instance, however, she couldn’t, and she found herself hopelessly lost and flailing in her uncertainty and fear. She didn’t know what to do – what decision to make -- and it scared her!

 

Standing there beside her in the gazebo that overlooked the bay, a warm spring breeze blew up and through them from the Wrenhaven, ruffling the locks of their twin colored hair. She gazed out across the ocean in the distance – at the sun that was just beginning to sink down below the horizon. She could feel Jessamine’s eyes on her – silently begging her for an answer.

 

An answer she still did not have.

 

The breeze, however warm it was, made a shiver wrack up and down Venetica’s frame. Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she squeezed her fingers around her silk clad arms, and hugged herself as tight as she could. She avoided Jessamine’s gaze, like she had been doing for days up till then. She knew the time for her to deliver an answer to her friend was quickly becoming imminent, yet she kept returning to the numbing realization that she _didn’t know what to do_! Outsider help her – she had possessed an entire two _months_  to come to a decision, but none had come yet. Her doorway remained unshadowed – her doubts and worries still left unassuaged and to fester.

 

She blamed her father encouraging her to say no and marry for love, that kept her from making this difficult decision. And if she was being perfectly honest, that was what she was so sorely tempted to do. She didn’t love Corvo; after all, a simple girlhood crush was a far cry from loving someone so deeply as to marry them and be bonded to them for the remainder of your lives! And the longer she stood there and thought about it, the longer she realized that was what she most wanted in her life: a marriage made for love. She wanted the marriage her mother and father had made – the marriage that Jessamine and Corvo _would_ have if they could. And even though she had yet to meet the man who would make her feel what her mother had felt for her father, and what Jessamine felt for Corvo, did _not_ mean that she wouldn’t eventually. Why shouldn’t she keep herself open for that?

 

She stood there a moment longer, thinking, and quickly realized – with startling brevity -- that Corvo was _not_ the vision of the man she had always seen herself being with and pledging her heart and everlasting love and fidelity to. She didn’t know what kind of man attracted her fantasies, for the vision of him remained forever dwelling in the darkest shadows of her mind, but she _did_ know it wasn’t Corvo. He was handsome and honorable and absolutely devoted to Jessamine, but yet . . . there was something about him that was lacking for Venetica’s tastes. Again, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there it was, out in the open: Corvo lacked something to make him truly appealing to her.

 

Was it age? Experience? Worldliness? Venetica couldn’t place it, just knew that it wasn’t there in Corvo. That it had _never_ been there in Corvo.

 

After a moment of feeling Jessamine’s intense gaze starting to burn a veritable hole through her, she finally gave a hard swallow and turned to face her. “Jessamine, look, I --”

 

Jessamine interrupted her friend by giving her a thankful smile and taking her hands up in hers. She shook her head. “Venetica, before you say anything, I just want to take this moment to thank you – from the _bottom_ of my heart! I could come to no one else with this request, despite being how important a matter it is, and you . . . you did not judge me by my request, even though you had every right to. You heard it with open ears, heart, and mind, and I just want to say _thank_ you, Venetica, for being such an amazing friend to me over the years, and for even _entertaining_ me in this!”

 

It was like a lead stone had dropped into her stomach upon hearing her friend’s rather emphatic words. They were so genuine – Jessamine’s eyes appearing so heartfelt to her at that moment -- that it was almost painful for her to bear witness to such a thing. One of her hands appeared at her collarbone, where her fingers worried at the pendant located there. It had been her mother’s, and many a time, she would run her fingers over the smooth opal surface in hopes of gaining some of the woman’s legendary strength.

 

How was she going to tell her _now_?

 

Eventually – and after a virtual eternity of standing there facing her friend and not knowing what to say – Venetica finally spoke. And it was _not_ what she originally set out to tell her.

 

“I’ve thought about it, Jessamine – a lot – long and hard, too! And I . . .” She paused and took in a deep breath before slowly releasing it. Forcing a tight smile on her face, she nodded. “I will. I’ll do it, Jessamine. I’ll marry Corvo.”

 

The bright beam that crossed her friend’s face at that moment, almost made it worth the heartache Venetica knew she would inevitably feel when she finally met that man who made her see the stars in his eyes and who caused butterflies to appear in her stomach. That man who currently lingered in the shadows of her thoughts, not making himself known, but lingering there all the same; silently telling her that he was there and waiting for her.

 

 _Almost_.

 

Oh by the Outsider, what had she gotten herself into?

                                                                                    

* * *

 

“Can we . . . can we talk for a moment?”

 

Venetica’s eyes widened upon hearing Corvo’s voice puncture that bubble of soothing silence she had erected around herself, and immediately tore her eyes up and away from the book that had been lying open in her lap, but which she had not been reading a word of. He was standing a little ways away from her, a slightly apprehensive look on his face, and best appearing as if he did not wish to intrude on her alone time in the garden. In all honesty, Venetica _had_ come to the garden with every intention of being left alone. She wanted to completely submerge herself in her thoughts – borate herself for being so stupid, if possible. Every second that passed by with the reminder that she had just . . . _frivolously_ agreed with Jessamine’s request to tie herself away for the rest of her life to a man she did not love, who did not love her, and who she would never be happy with, made her feel sick and stupid and so _utterly_ useless as a friend. A true friendwould have told Jessamine her fears and her worries, and together, they would have discussed and put them to rest. A true _friend_ would have politely declined Jessamine’s request, and then told her, with eloquence and poise, exactly why. But no . . . no, Venetica had to be a coward. She had to be her normal selfless self when it came to Jessamine. The one time she wanted to be completely and utterly selfish – to stay loyal to the unknown man who had long held sway in her thoughts, and she . . . couldn’t. She ended up failing miserably.

 

Venetica had never before felt so bad for herself, and not-to-mention _angry_!

 

She also never remembered ever hating herself as much as she did then, too.

 

After swallowing hard to get past the lump that had been steadily building in her throat since he had announced to her his presence, Venetica gave a tight smile, and a nod. “Y-yes, of course. H-have a seat, Corvo.” She spoke as she quickly moved to the side along the marble bench she had been perched on. With that same smile still on his face, Corvo took her proffered seat.

 

They sat there for a moment, basking in the heat of the sun’s rays and allowing the smells of the ocean and the Wrenhaven, to fill their lungs. It was a beautiful day, and as he sat there, Corvo couldn’t help but silently admit that Venetica was, too. She possessed a little bit of a different beauty than Jessamine, though. She was shorter and fuller, where Jessamine was tall and willowy. Jessamine’s face was more angular and her eyes blue, whereas Venetica’s was brown and a tad bit fuller, but not by much – with high-arching cheekbones that made many women envious. Their hair was the same color, but Corvo was afraid that was where their similarities ended. Venetica sat there beside him, hair tied back into an elegant chignon behind her head with a scarlet ribbon, kohl-rimmed eyes suddenly appearing much more innocent and vulnerable than they ever had before, and especially before he had arrived. He hoped that vulnerability would eventually go away, for she was much too pretty to harbor that air on her person, but knew with him, that it never would. He was sure many men would have been very happy to have her hand in marriage – that many man would have loved to support her enough to put the steel in her spine that she needed and would benefit from – the steel in her spine that would skyrocket her looks from beautiful or pretty, to simply gorgeous.

 

Then why didn’t he?

 

Why did he feel so guilty for having allowed Jessamine to blindside her friend into this marriage the way they had? Why did he feel like they owed Venetica Galvani so much more than what they were giving her? Why were they repaying her decades of unwavering loyalty with _this_? Shouldn’t she be allowed to find her own love the way they had – her own life’s path? Shouldn’t she be _allowed_ to marry for love, and not for politics like she had so selflessly agreed to earlier that afternoon?

 

Corvo wished he could be as loyal and selfless as she. It were two traits he couldn’t help but admire.

 

“It is a beautiful day . . .” He finally spoke, the awkwardness between them becoming palpable, and she nodded.

 

“Yes . . . it is.”

 

They descended into another silence then, one that was punctuated heavily by an uncomfortableness that was clearly evident. Eventually, Corvo grimaced and turned to face her. “Jessamine told me of your decision,” Venetica nodded but did not speak, so Corvo continued: “I just want you to know that you _can_ say no if you want to, Venetica. We will understand.”

 

She stayed silent, and Corvo heaved a sigh and added: “I know . . . I know this is unfair to you, in more ways than one. You have every right in the world to marry for love like everyone else. You have every right in the world to _want_ that. And as much as we will appreciate and be indebted to you for all our lives for agreeing to this, I nevertheless feel like this is . . . _so unfair_ to you! We have no right asking you to do this – to throw your life away to a man who will _never_ love you like you deserved to be loved, and I --”

 

“Will you be good to me?”

 

Her sudden, slightly hard words, caused him to come to an immediate stop. His eyes grew wide. “Excuse me?”

 

“Will you be good to me, Corvo?”

 

Corvo sat there, gaping at her for a moment, unable to think of how to reply to that. After a moment, his mouth closed, his face softened, and he gave a nod. “I will. I won’t . . . I won’t be able to love you like you deserve. But I will try to as much as I can, and I _can_ promise you that I will be good to you. You will want for nothing material – I _will_ take care of you!”

 

Venetica gave a slow nod. She supposed . . . she _could_ get worse than Corvo, couldn’t she? Some men beat their wives – sexually, mentally, and physically abused them. Corvo was a good, honorable man – he wouldn’t ever _think_ of laying a hand on her, and she . . . she supposed if she wished it, she probably wouldn’t even have to share a bed with him past the consummation of their wedding night. It wasn’t the best decision she had ever made for herself, but it wasn’t the worst by a long shot, she figured.

 

She drew in a deep breath before turning to face him. The smile that appeared on her face then, was stronger than he had expected to see. “Corvo, I wouldn’t have said yes to her if I wasn’t sure. I could do a lot worse for myself than a marriage to you, the Lord Protector.”

 

“But you deserve so much _more_!” He replied, emphatically, and wondered why he was trying so hard to get her to change her mind. Maybe his guilt ran deeper than he wanted to admit.

 

Venetica gave a sad smile that practically broke his heart in two, and gave another slow shake of her head. She returned her gaze out to ocean stretched out before them, and her head gave one last shake. “No . . . I’ve chosen my bed, Corvo. Now let me lay in it.”

 

He felt his heart break at those words.

                                                                            

* * *

 

He has a headache pounding away with the force of a marching army, in his head. It banged at the walls of his temples with steel hammers – unrelenting, merciless. Daud stands there on his balcony, the cool breezes that made up Dunwall’s spring nights, caressing his body, which lay bare before Outsider and country; his muscled, scarred physique shining under the white light of the full moon. The wind smells briny here, in the Flooded District, that he and his Whalers have made their base of operations in the old Chamber of Commerce building. It smells briny and salty from the blood of the whales that are butchered a little ways away in the next district.

 

A woman lies naked and sleeping in his bed behind him – a woman that he assumes is a prostitute. He did not care to ask, and after this night, if she isn’t, then she would be, because he plans on paying her regardless of what she says, especially since she has no idea that she just shared the bed of the infamous Knife of Dunwall, and lived to tell the tale.

 

She possessed frizzy auburn hair, freckled cheeks, and luminous green eyes that remained the only beautiful thing about her, now that she has lived through Dunwall poverty. She was just as scarred as he was, with limbs that resembled twigs, and breasts that had once been quite lovely, he was sure, but which now hung like gunny sacks from her chest.

 

Daud did not like to think of himself as a particularly cruel man. He grew up with a fairly unremarkable life. His childhood and adolescence spent skirting along the fringes of the law, was your normal, everyday thieving and petty vandalism. He didn’t torture animals when he was younger, heard voices that made him go crazy (those came later, along with the Mark that was now more of a curse than a blessing). He didn’t get into his profession until much later in his life, and even then, he wouldn’t call himself _cruel_. While being the Knife of Dunwall had certainly cooled him and made his heart a little bit harder, he didn’t think himself invulnerable to bouts of guilt and compassion that plagued other people. He looked to his Whalers as his family – felt a loyalty to them that was almost fanatic. Many of them were like sons and daughters to him, hell, many of them, he practically _raised_ (Thomas and Billie’s faces appeared in his mind upon this thought)! He would die for his men, he knew, with every ounce of conviction in his body, and knew they knew it, as well. That didn’t make him cruel. Quite the contrary, he thought it made him very much the opposite.

 

When it came to sex, however . . . now that was when the line started to blur for him. He wasn’t abusive by any stretch of the imagination, and he didn’t even _begin_ to get violent in bed unless the woman practically _begged_ for it. He had grown up with a strong, independent woman for a mother who have wrung his neck in ten seconds flat if he even _thought_ of hitting a woman in anything but self-defense.

 

He wasn’t a cruel man, in and out of bed, but . . . the way he approached sex, could possibly be misconstrued as such.

 

Quite simply put, he wasn’t a big fan of it.

 

Sure, he had been young once, and like young men, he lived, breathed, and ate sex (literally and figuratively). He had, had his fair share of women, ranging all across the board from noblewomen to peasants – dockside whores to those who worked in high end cathouses like the Golden Cat. He’d done everything in the book, and then some. Eventually, though, like all things when they are done so much that they become tedious, sex, unfortunately, became like that. He still felt the drive to have sex – he was only human, after all. But lately, he’d been viewing it as nothing more but a primal drive -- something to be done away with quickly, so that he could go back to the more important things that had been occupying his time before that insufferable itch reared it’s annoying head. As such, he approached the deed mechanically – indifferently. He found that he didn’t care for the pleasures of his partner – not anymore, anyway.

 

And as he stood there, thinking about it, it occurred to him that he was approaching his entire outlook on his life, in such a way now: in mere disinterest. When he was younger, he had devoted himself to his work – threw himself into making the Whalers as good as he could make them – forge them into the best, most ruthless assassins Gristol had ever seen, with him as their mythical figurehead. And slowly, as Daud felt who he was slowly slip away, only to be replaced with the “Knife of Dunwall” along with the accompanying mask and the Outsider’s Mark, Daud found himself changing. He lived for his work. He had no time for relationships other than those he forged with his men. He had no time for such things as love and comfort, and as such, never got married. He never had a family. He didn’t have any of those things other men his age normally did.

 

But Daud was different, wasn’t he? Yes, the _Knife_ of Dunwall, had to be different. He had to be the lone wolf, the boogeyman in the darkness – the Outsider’s right hand. A mythical figure didn’t get his own life, save for the ones the people forged for him.

 

In truth . . . if he was being honest with himself . . . now that he was getting older, and he was allowed to allow the mask to slip more and more, he realized that he was lonely. Lonely and tired – _exhausted_ , even. He stood there and watched as some of his Whalers left their ranks to forge families of their own, hell, some of them even had families with each _other_! As he walked the streets and shadows and rooftops of Dunwall, he would find his eyes lingering on young newlyweds as they walked the streets, arms around each other, beaming with the happiness that flowed like cocaine through their blood; at mothers who carried their babes in their arms, and fathers who allowed their sons and daughters to ride on their shoulders.

 

Daud was lonely. He was exhausted. And more and more as the days bled away and the seconds ticked by, the man, the myth, the legend – the Knife of Dunwall . . . was starting to feel human.

                                                                        

* * *

 

The woman woke of her own accord. Silently, with her eyes burning into his back, she got dressed in silence. When she was done, she stood there, swaying uncertainly on her feet. He broke the silence that was beginning to stretch out between them, his lilting and baritone voice, quiet and pensive.

 

“Money’s on the table. Take it and leave.”

 

She didn’t move, and eyed the money on the table like it was something foreign. “I . . . I’m not a . . .” She trailed off, not knowing whether to be offended or just take the money and go, no questions asked. But, he supposed she _did_ have a few last shreds of dignity clinging to her soul, despite what Dunwall poverty had thrown at her in her life, so didn’t take it personally.

 

“You have children?”

 

She didn’t answer him at first, only blinked at him bewilderingly for a moment. After a moment, she stuttered out an answer. “Yes, I-I do.”

 

“How many?”

 

“Three. All boys.”

 

Daud smirked. She should be grateful they were boys. Boys could get jobs at the docks as butchers, on the ships hauling in fish and whales – doing construction, police work. Hell, if they were of a mind, they could even become Overseers if it suited them. More likely, though, they would join Slackjaw’s or Lizzy Stride’s gang and live lives of crime. Daughters, however, if they didn’t have the good fortune to become seamstresses or washerwomen or even – if they were especially lucky – maids – almost always became prostitutes.

 

Almost always.

 

“Take the money and go buy you all a good meal – maybe some new clothes, pay your rent. There would have been worse ways to make that money. When they’re old enough, send them my way. I’ll have jobs for them.”

 

 _If they can handle it, that is . . ._ He silently added, and sensed the woman standing behind him, pause, almost as if she wanted to say something. Eventually, though, she thought better of it, and darted forward, where she scooped up the money. She paused again, and he felt her eyes bore a hole into his back, before she turned and moved quickly off towards the door. She paused for a last time when she reached the door, and turned to gaze at him over her shoulder.

 

“Thank you.” She spoke, quietly, almost in awe. He didn’t answer her – didn’t even nod. He heard her open the door, and it took a moment for it to close – a moment that told him that someone had slipped in as she left.

 

Daud sighed and hung his head. He wearily rubbed the back of his neck with his callused hand. “What’s the news?”

 

He heard Thomas chuckle from behind him. Thomas wasn’t his second – that dubious distinction went to Billie – but he was one of his most loyal followers. He had raised Thomas from a kid into what he was now – one of his finest assassins -- and if he was being honest, Thomas _should_ have been his second. Outsider only knew how much he confided in Thomas, compared to how much he did with Billie.

 

“Rough night?”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

Daud turned around upon grumbling out those words, and moved into the room, where he yanked up his pants and pulled them on. Thomas was standing beside his desk, where the woman’s money had been moments before. His blonde hair gleamed slightly in the pale light of the quickly rising sun, and a small smile was on his handsome aquiline features.

 

“The Lord Protector is getting married today, I hear.” He told him, and Daud sent him an upturned brow.

 

“Why should that matter to me? Want to send him a wedding present or something?”

 

Thomas chuckled again and shook his head. “Figured you’d find it amusing. I, however, pity the poor girl who he’s marrying.”

 

Daud allowed himself to nod in agreement as he pulled on his shirt. “Marrying a man who will never love you – who will always pine for another woman . . . she has my sympathy, too.”

 

“She’s pretty, also, from what I hear.”

 

Daud smirked. “What? You looking to be her Knight in Shining Armor?”

 

Thomas grinned back. “No, I was thinking more of you doing that, old man.”

 

Daud released a bark of laughter, and shook his head. “Try a Knight in _Rusted_ Armor!” He shook his head. “All joking aside, why are you coming to me with this?”

 

Thomas gave a shrug. “It’s been quiet around here, lately – _boring_. Some of us were talking about getting out for a day. Go to the market, cause some mayhem for Slackjaw’s men in the Distillery. There’s gonna be a wedding procession around noon – Corvo and his new, blushing bride led by the Empress herself. Figured we might catch that as well. Wanna tag along?”

 

Daud stood there and thought for a minute before eventually shaking his head. “No, I’ll pass. I’m too old for mayhem, and I don’t have to pick up anything in the market.”

 

“What about the procession.”

 

Daud smirked. “Do I look like a wedding guy to you?”

 

Thomas chuckled. “Oh I don’t know, Daud . . . maybe?”

 

Thomas answer was so cryptic, that Daud chose not to answer it. Instead, he nodded. “But don’t let me hold you guys back. Go, have fun. I’ll let you know if we get anything in way of jobs.”

 

Thomas nodded and moved towards the door, only to stop and turn around. “Oh, yeah, by the way, Billie wants to speak with you. What do you want me to tell her?”

 

Daud grimaced as he shrugged his jacket on. “Tell her I’ll catch up with her later. Don’t feel like dealing with a Billie Lurk this early in the morning.”

 

Thomas smirked and nodded, but didn’t say anything, merely moved towards the door. He left swiftly and quietly, leaving Daud alone with just him and his thoughts. He stood there for a moment before moving over to his desk. Might-as-well get some work done. Wasn’t like he had anything else to do.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus this chapter took a while, and for that, I am sorry. The first half was written just fine, but the fourth part, it went: "Nope!". Took me forever to figure out how to write it and be satisfied with it. I hope the content more than makes up for the absence. And also, please forgive the length. Didn't want to split it up into two chapters :)

* * *

 

“It figures that you’d want to meet me here of all places.”

 

Daud’s headache had yet to go away, even though it was well past noon. From beside him on the rooftop of Dr. Gregor Galvani’s manor, Billie Lurk smirked. “It’s the biggest wedding of the year, Daud. I wanted to see what the bride is wearing on her big day. Can you blame me?”

 

Condescension steeps her tone like a bag of tea leaves being pulled from a cup that used to hold steaming water. It was now pretty common knowledge that the bride – a certain Lady Venetica Galvani, the daughter of the very same vivisectionist who owned the roof they were currently standing on – did not love the man she was marrying. The rumors did not say _why_ she was marrying him then, if she did not love him, nor what her father thought of this sudden loveless union between his daughter and the infamous Lord Protector of Dunwall. It did explain why the crowds lining John Clavering, were as long and thick as they were, though. It also explained Billie’s condescension, at least to Daud.

 

Billie hated weddings. They symbolized everything in her life that she either couldn’t have, or was too scared to risk having. But she _did_ like crowds for the ever-so-slight chance that they could be incited into a riot or relentlessness.

 

She stood beside him, their matching red jackets almost entirely too stifling in this insufferable Dunwall summer heat. Billie’s arms were crossed in front of her chest, and aside from that smirk on her face, her eyes were hard and cold – the same as his. You didn’t have the kind of profession they did, without eventually adopting that look.

 

“Why did you want to see me?”

 

“There are whispers in the shadows. Whispers that a certain . . . _Lord Regent_ is brewing up a little treason.”

 

Daud nodded. He had heard those rumors too. “I already know this. It isn’t new.”

 

Billie nodded. “But this is: he’s shipping in rats infected with a plague. He wants to eradicate the city’s poverty, by killing the poor,” She glanced at him. “The rats are from the Pandyssian continent.”

 

She says it like it should – or might -- matter to him, where the rats come from. It doesn’t. His mother was the one who bragged to be Pandyssian, not him. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass (no pun intended) on where the hell they were coming from. Nevertheless, this news alarmed and unsettled him.

 

Plague . . . plague was never good. Especially if it was accompanied by a plan as ridiculous and harebrained as this one was.

 

He shook his head and vocalized his thoughts. Billie nodded in agreement. “What do you plan on doing about it?”

 

Daud heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. Wait until it actually happens and Sokolov comes up with something?” He shook his head. “I don’t like this, Billie. We live like Kings, you know that, but where we are . . . abandoned parts of the city like our district, often become dumping grounds for corpses during plagues. It’ll spread like wildfire if we aren’t ready for it. Rumors or no rumors, we cannot take this lightly.”

 

Billie gave another slow nod of agreement. She stayed silent though, and so did he. They stood there instead, on the roof of that manor house, watching as the crowd clapped and cheered as the wedding procession came rolling down the boulevard. First came the Overseers and their damned music boxes that made Daud’s stomach twist into knots and feel vaguely like vomiting. He saw the slightly ashen look on Billie’s face and knew she felt the same – that all their men felt the same around those damned men. Then came Geoff Curnow leading his guardsmen in full dress blues. The Empress Jessamine herself in full royal regalia was flanked by Lord Hiram Burrows and High Overseer Thaddeus Campbell in a clattering car, caparisoned in the Kaldwin family colors.

 

Vaguely, Daud wondered where the Princess Emily was – that maybe she should be shown in such processions – but then realized she was probably still considered too young.

 

Corvo and his bride rode behind them in another car. They both wore false smiles and their hands waved false greetings, while all the while appearing as if they were silently begging to be anywhere other than there, at that moment. Corvo looked handsome and polished, his bride, young and pure in her white gown.

 

It was first time it happened in so long, that when it _did_ happen, Daud almost didn’t know what had happened to him.

 

His heart gave a weird thump/twisting gesture in his chest, as his lungs seized up, making it hard for him to breathe. He stiffened at the sudden movement, his brows furrowing. What was this? Why had the sight of Corvo’s bride – the Lady Venetica Galvani -- taken his breath away?

 

Billie, too, had taken notice of the sudden stiffening of Daud’s spine – the telltale furrowing of his brows. “What is it?” She asked, but Daud didn’t answer her. Instead, he moved fearlessly towards the edge of the building, and even this movement seemed like a dream – his feet moving of their own accord. He heard Billie call his name in something that closely resembled shock or indignation, but he ignored her. His hand had already stretched out, to the balcony a little ways underneath and diagonal to them. He closed his eyes and felt the curious sensation of his body compressing slightly. When he opened them, he was no longer on the rooftop with Billie, and instead, was on the balcony he had stretched his hand out towards.

 

What was he doing? He didn’t think even he fully knew. All he did know, though – with an almost perfect clarity – was that he _had_ to see her face more clearly.

 

He _had_ to know what she looked like.

* * *

Her heart had thumped like the maddest drum possible, in her chest throughout the entire day. She hardly slept, the night before the ceremony. She hardly ate, too, and by the time the entire ordeal was over the next day, she was practically dying of hunger. That day, though, her stomach clenched and twisted whenever she thought of food, causing her to not even try to eat. It was something she knew Jessamine noticed and worried at, but also knew that she just passed it off as wedding jitters.  

 

She didn’t want to be known as the bride who vomited on her wedding day, no matter how much she didn’t want it.

 

That morning, as she stood in the middle of the Empress’ rooms, her dress being readied by the Empress’ seamstresses around her, was when the rumors were brought to her attention. The rumors that she didn’t love Corvo – that this marriage was purely political, but _why_? Jessamine seemed shocked by the rumors – that they had spread around so quickly, but Venetica wasn’t. The Empress was followed every second of every day. Was it really so hard to believe that their conversations had not been overheard?

 

Her heart had continued to pound throughout the entire ceremony, where she was bonded forever to Corvo. For a moment – a brief moment – she felt tears come to her eyes. Why was she doing this? Why did she not tell the Empress no? Why had she not gotten out when Corvo joined her in the garden and said that she could?

 

Why was she doing this to herself? Punishing herself in this way? What imaginable slight had she committed to warrant this?

 

Thankfully, the ceremony was over and done with quickly. No doubt that had been Jessamine’s decision so that the torture would not be too prolonged for the three of them. The kiss at the end was chaste – the epitome of a kiss between two people who were marrying for completely political reasons. And while she knew they would indeed consummate the marriage that night, she knew that the rest of her nights would be devoid of his presence except for those scant times needed to keep the rumors at a bare minimum. And really, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t know how she felt about that.

 

And at that moment, there seemed to be some kind of impenetrable rift between them, her and Corvo. He sat as far down the seat as he could in the car with her, almost as if the slightest touch could set him on fire. His smile and his wave to the people was forced, but then again, so was hers. The both of them were like automatons put on display in front of everyone: Smile, wave, repeat until the crowd bores of you and moves on to other, more exciting things . . .

 

Her thought trailed off when a blur over the crowd, caught her attention. Brows furrowing in interest, she looked up over the heads lining the street, right when a figure fell off the roof of her father’s home, only to reappear on the balcony below where he had been standing, right after she blinked. She recoiled slightly, hardly able to comprehend what she had just seen. How was that . . . had he just . . .?

 

And there! He did it again! This time, though, he appeared on the actual sidewalk, his face blurring through the movements of the crowd as he moved his way casually to the car. Her heart gave a jump in her chest, and without even thinking, she lay a hand on Corvo’s arm while nervously speaking his name. The Lord Protector jumped underneath her touch, and turned a wide-eyed gaze onto her. Noticing her hesitant expression as she gazed over the crowd, Corvo’s expression shifted and changed. The wide-eyed gaze left him, only to be replaced with one of concern. He shifted to face her, his hand appearing on her arm, as well, as he spoke.

 

“Venetica, what is it? Do you see something?”

 

She wordlessly shook her head, noticing that the man who had fallen from the rooftop, had come to a stop in the crowd as they rumbled past him. It had probably been nothing, and she echoed the sentiment to Corvo, who nodded, but nevertheless shifted back against the seat a little bit stiffer than he had been before. The entire thing had seemed so weird, and she couldn’t help but keep her gaze on him over the back of the car, even as they lost him from view. She couldn’t banish the way he seemed to  . . . _blink_ , down to the road from the rooftop, nor the way he had seemed so intent on getting closer to them through the crowd. Who was he, she wondered, and why did she feel such a . . . _draw_ to him, even through the crowd, and even though they didn’t know each other from Adam? Why else would she have been so desperate to keep him in her line of sight until he disappeared?

 

Who the hell was he?

* * *

 

The closer Daud drew to her, the quicker he moved – the more desperate he was to get to her so that he could see her face. He paused when he reached the front, allowing one to two people to always stand in front of him, and was surprised to find her gaze set dead on him. There was a look of curiosity in her eyes while her face belied her nervousness. She seemed intent on keeping her gaze on him, though, and through the shifting crowd separating them, he could see how pretty she was – dainty but curvaceous – skin the color of ripe peaches (when was the last time he had seen a peach? He suddenly wondered, and almost bewilderingly), and raven colored hair that whipped around her face with the sudden breezes that had appeared.

 

That inexplicable draw to her that he had felt up on the rooftop – the draw that had made him enter the crowd to begin with – strengthened then, as their eyes connected through the crowd. As the car she and the Lord Protector was sitting in, rumbled past them behind the Empress’, he felt the almost overwhelming need to get to her – to run his eyes over every curve of her, and to touch his fingers to that beautiful, flawless skin of hers. It was powerful and unspeakable, this need.

 

A hand landed on his shoulder, and for a moment, the touch enraged him. His jaw hardened, and his teeth grit as he stood there, watching as the bride almost desperately tried to keep him in her line of sight. “Not _now_ , Billie!” He growled, but the voice who spoke his name on a firm tone, was not Billie’s.

 

“Daud, we have to go. Some of the boys noticed how fast you moved through the crowd, and think something’s up. Some of them are getting restless. They don’t want to stay here for much longer . . .”

 

Looking over his shoulder, he noticed it was Thomas who was standing behind him, his hand on his shoulder. His handsome face was a mask of expressionlessness, but his gaze . . . his gaze belied his uncertainty. Briefly, Daud glanced at the direction the car had disappeared off to, before his eyes darted to the sky. Dark, angry, _very_ pregnant storm clouds were starting to brew. It was going to rain, he knew – could smell it on the breezes wafting off the Wrenhaven, and taste it on the back of his tongue as it settled there with a thick, almost coppery heaviness. He could feel it in every bone he had ever broken, and felt almost bad that it was going to rain on the bride’s wedding day. While most of the peasants said that rain on a wedding day was good luck, he knew differently. He had possessed a borderline witch for a mother – he _knew_ how much of a bad omen it could be.

 

Eventually, he gave a slow nod. “Alright . . . alright, let’s go back. We’re done here, anyway.”

 

Thomas nodded, and the look of relief that echoed on his face as they turned and melted off into the crowd, almost made the flare of anger inside him return.

 

“She was pretty . . .” Thomas eventually spoke up as they blinked back up to the rooftops. Daud gave a dismissive nod after they stood there for a moment, observing the shifting crowd underneath them to make sure none of the guardsmen or remaining Overseers had seen them.

 

Turning on their heels, they moved off across the flat, metal plains towards the Flooded District – towards home. It was then that Daud spoke. “Yes, Thomas . . . she was. Very.”

 

He could feel the weight of Thomas’ gaze on him, and ignored it. Withdrawing back into those impenetrable walls he had painstakingly built around himself for decades, Thomas knew better than others how near impossible it would be to get Daud to speak once he had fully withdrawn into himself.

 

“So pretty, you alarmed the men by moving as quickly as you could through the crowd towards her?” Thomas asked, and grinned when Daud shook his head and growled:

 

“Thomas, do me a favor and shut up.”

* * *

“Are you nervous?”

 

Venetica stood there for a moment in the dim glow of the lights in Corvo’s apartments, not knowing how to reply to Jessamine’s question. Her eyes kept flitting to the closed bedroom door, constantly wondering how many times Jessamine and Corvo had made love in that bed. And now, here she was . . . her best friend’s dearest friend, about to consummate her wedding night with the man she loved.

 

She hoped she wasn’t the only one who would be fearing the amount of awkwardness there would be between them, that coming morning.

 

A few times, she contemplated feigning exhaustion from that day’s events, or even sickness from how much she had eaten at that evening’s feast (even though she had hardly touched her food. And even her determination to get drunk, hadn’t worked). And however much she knew Corvo would jump at the excuse with a relief that almost made her feel insulted, she knew it would only be delaying the inevitable.

 

She just had to get this one night over with, and then everything would be fine. He’d almost never be in her bed except for those night that he would _have_ to be. She’d be free to seek her interests elsewhere . . .

 

_He’s standing at the front of the crowd, one to two people always in front of him so she can not once, get a good look at his face. Despite that, though, she feels inexplicably drawn to him – in a deep, and primal way. She knows he is looking at her, the man in the scarlet red coat. And she knows in his eyes, she would see the stars looking back at her . . ._

 

She reluctantly brings herself out of her thoughts, which had been ruminating the entire day on the mysterious man who had fought through the crowd to the front, and who had blinked down from the rooftops in his haste. She didn’t know who he was – knew that she would probably _never_ see him again, but that one moment . . . those few brief seconds in which a connection to someone, stronger than she had ever forged before, made her pause, and her breath steal from her lungs. He had been a stranger. A complete, and total stranger.

 

And yet, she felt more drawn to him, than she did Corvo. She felt _closer_ to him, than she had ever felt for Corvo.

 

“Venetica, are you alright?”

 

There it was – there was Jessamine’s voice again, awash in sisterly concern. Venetica thought she loved her most then, at that moment, for sitting there with her and waiting for the moment that neither of them wished would not come. At the same time, she couldn’t help but feel a little needling feeling of resentment in her heart. If it wasn’t for Jessamine falling in love with Corvo – if it wasn’t for her digging them into a hole that could only be repaired (and partially, at that) by her marrying Corvo, then maybe . . . maybe Venetica wouldn’t be feeling this way. Maybe she could have gone off into the crowd and found the man who had reached her so quickly. Maybe she would have been able to look into his eyes and see the stars reflected back at her, and maybe . . . just _maybe_ . . .

 

She shook the thoughts from her head, feeling foolish because of them. This was as much her fault, as it was theirs. She didn’t _have_ to say yes – Corvo offered her an out in the garden, and Jessamine – as much as she would have hated to have seen the look of disappointment on her friend’s face -- nevertheless would have accepted her refusal. It still marveled her as to why she insisted on going through it.

 

Shooting her friend a weak smile, she gave a nod. “Yes, Jessamine, I’m fine,” She told her, and Jessamine nodded, and returned her smile as she added: “You know, you don’t have to stay here with me and wait until he arrives. I know how awkward this must already be for you.”

 

Jessamine gazed at her for a moment, and in that gaze, Venetica saw how badly she did want to leave; to shut herself away in her own rooms or in the rooms that contained her and Corvo’s daughter, and pretend that what was happening in hers, was all a cruel, cruel dream. But Jessamine – good, kind Jessamine – merely gave her a smile.

 

“Do you want me to stay, Venetica?”

 

Venetica sat there for a moment, ruminating on her question. In reality, she _did_ want her to stay for as long as she could. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts until Corvo’s arrival. However, she also didn’t want to bear witness to the sheer painful awkwardness that would result in Corvo walking into their rooms to find Jessamine sitting there with her. So, after a moment, she returned her smile.

 

“You can leave . . . if you wish.” She spoke, and while her words were indeed ambiguous, she knew Jessamine would be quick to read between the lines. She rose to her feet with Jessamine as she stood from her place perched on the couch beside her. The look on her friend’s face could very well have been described as “relieved”.

 

“I . . . well, good luck.” Jessamine spoke, and Venetica smiled and nodded.

 

“Thanks. You too.”

 

Jessamine returned her smile, and was quick to leave, taking her awkward air with her and leaving Venetica in one of nervousness instead. She sat there, not knowing what to do to keep herself occupied until Corvo got there. She fidgeted, studied her nails, picked at her cuticles, made sure her hair and make-up were still impeccable. Eventually, when the door opened and shut with a silent fluidity that almost took her unawares, Venetica felt her heart drop down into the pit of her stomach as she turned to meet the man she was now wed to for the end of their days.

 

He looked haggard standing there in the dim threshold of what used to be his apartments but which were now theirs. Like her, he looked like he had tried to get drunk but had been largely unsuccessful. She didn’t know if their twin nervousness was what made the alcohol’s normally lucrative powers null and void, or if fate decreed the both of them should suffer for her being a coward.

 

“Do you . . . do you want a glass of wine?” He asked as he moved over to the bottle and two glasses that had been set out prior to her arrival in the spacious rooms. He shook his head and heaved a sigh. “I’ve been in desperate need for one all night!” He grumbled, and she released a slight laugh. She didn’t answer him, and he didn’t ask her again. He poured them both a glass and handed her one. Without a toast, he drained his in one quick gulp, leaving her awkwardly standing with the glass in her hands.

 

“Forgive me in advance if I get a little maudlin,” He spoke with a slight burp as he placed the glass down on the table behind him before leaning on it. He turned to gaze at her for a moment, and as he did so, that gaze turned sad. Eventually, he gave a slow shake of his head. “Why in the world did you say yes, Venetica? Why curse yourself to this existence? Why curse yourself to be yoked to a man who does not love you?”

 

She had, of course, wondered that question a thousand times before. It had nagged at her incessantly, even now, when it was too late. And she knew it had nagged at Corvo too – made him wonder _exactly_ why a woman would want to tie herself to a man she did not love.

 

She eventually gave a small, halfway defeated shrug as she moved to place her wine glass down on the nearby end table. “I . . . I don’t know. I like to think I did it out love for Jessamine, and that . . . that’s probably it. But I don’t know, I also feel that there’s something deeper to it, what, I don’t know, just that there is.”

 

Corvo was silent for a moment as he moved to cross his arms in front of his chest and then his ankle stretched out on long legs before him. His eyes focused on an indeterminate place on the rug stretched out underneath them, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

 

“We . . . don’t have to do this tonight. We can wait . . . if you wish.”

 

Immediately, Venetica shook her head. “No, let’s do this tonight. If we wait, I’ll lose my nerve, and we’ll never do it. Let’s . . . just get this over with.”

 

Corvo gave a laugh, and shook his head. She sent him a questioning look, one he returned with an amused one of his own. “You know what’s funny to me?” She shook her head and he gave another laugh. “There was a time, long, long ago, before Jessamine and I even _thought_ of becoming what we are now, that I dreamed of being in a situation like this with you, Venetica.”

 

She recoiled at this, not expecting to hear such a confession come from his lips. Maybe all the wine and alcohol _had_ made him become maudlin. He shook his head and gave another shrug of his shoulders. “When we were children, I thought you were the most enchanting thing I had ever seen. The way you laughed all the time, and your stubbornness in the face of adversity . . . and when got older, I . . . _contemplated_ asking your father if I could court you, but then your mother died, and your father whisked you off to his manor, and I . . . Jessamine and I became closer. I barely saw you, so my feelings started to wane, and before I knew it, it was like I had never possessed a crush on you. It was . . . my very _world_ revolved around Jessamine, and . . . I couldn’t help but thank the Outsider that I had not asked your father to court you. I thanked the Outsider that I had not married you, because I knew – I _knew_ – that I would have ended up hurting you because I would have eventually fallen for Jessamine – it was inevitable – and I would never have been able to abandon my feelings for her at the wayside. I could never leave her side for yours, and I remember thinking how _unfair_ that would have been! Because you are so good, and you deserve so much Venetica, and yet . . . here you are. The very thing to me that I had thanked the Outsider you were never going to become.”

 

Venetica looked away, not wanting him to notice the sudden burning of tears in her eyes. She could hardly believe what he had just told her, and yet . . . a part of her could believe him. She remembered how he would bring her things when they were children – picked flowers and ribbons and designs for her to embroider because he knew she liked to do such girly things unlike Jessamine. She remembered how he would always be the first in line to dance with her at balls when they were teenagers – how her mother used to whisper to Jessamine’s mother behind their hands, their eyes glued and glazing with amusement, on them.

 

And now look where they were. Fate really was a fickle bitch, was she not?

 

After a moment, she gave a stubborn shake of her head, and moved over to him. Gently, she took his hand, and he sent a wide-eyed look onto her. He was first taken aback by the stubborn look on her face, which softened upon her words:

 

“You might not love me, Corvo, but we do love someone in common: Jessamine. And we agreed to this because _she_ asked us to do this. The least we can do is fulfill our promise to her and try our best over the years to not arouse suspicions. And I ask . . . I’ve made my bed, Corvo. Let me lie in it. Please.”

 

Corvo shook his head as he got to his feet and gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “You can . . . you can seek someone else out in a year or two, if you wish. Someone who can love you in the way you deserved to be loved . . . I won’t blame you. I won’t be offended.”

 

Venetica gave a small smile and a shrug. “Perhaps in the future I might. But for now, there’s only one man in my life. And that’s you.”

 

She saw the smile on his face – the smile he wore despite how much he didn’t want to – and briefly, her mind flashed back to the man who stood in the crowd in the scarlet red cloak – the man who had blinked down from rooftops to get to her. She remembered the look on his face when he saw her – the man who saw her and only her in a massive crowd. Her heart gave a painful twinge in her chest, right around the same time a lead ball seemed to drop into her stomach. Who was he?

 

And why did she care?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did mention that this will be a slow-burn romance. Did I? Oh, I don't remember, but the important thing is I'm telling you now! Yes, this will be slow-burn. There are about one or two more chapters until Daud and Venetica actually meet face-to-face (for a brief time, anyway), for those of you who are rearing to get to the juicy parts and who are wondering just WHEN those juicy parts will come along. Now you know.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter took me forever to write, and I am really not that happy with it. Might just be me and my whole: "Writer's-Are-Harder-On-Themselves" hooplah, but I just really, really do not like this chapter. Maybe it was the way it dragged it's feet, kicking and screaming the entire way. Maybe it's because even I'M getting frustrated at how slow I'm moving -- I don't know. I Might go back in and edit it, but I'm not sure yet . . .
> 
> Anyway! Here it is, the next chapter of "None Like Her". Hope you guys like it more than I do :)

* * *

 

 

 _One Month Later_ . . .

           

Her nails had picked her cuticles ragged and bloody as they watched Sokolov’s movements across the room from them. He was busy collecting up his things and putting them together in his black doctor’s bag. Venetica sat in a chair by the window, hands curled in her lap, and feeling almost impossibly light-headed with shock. Corvo stood beside her, hands clenched into fists, only to be shoved into the crooks of his arms as they crossed themselves in front of his chest. He was glaring at the physician, almost as if by sheer force of will he could make the old man take back his earlier words.

           

_The old man muttered to himself as he observed a pale yellow liquid in the light of a nearby lamp. His voice was soft as he spoke – barely louder than a mutter. “Yes, yes, I’m much more convinced of it now . . .!”_

_“Much more convinced of_ what _, exactly, Sokolov?”_

 

_Corvo’s voice held an irritated edge to it when he addressed the physician. With an arch of his bushy brows, Sokolov turned back to face them._

_“I am now convinced, Lord Protector, that Lady Venetica is with child.”_

 

The words echoed against the walls of her head long after they were said; like a rubber ball that had been thrown against a wall and had subsequently began bouncing around the empty room from the force. Hand shaking, she placed it at her forehead, where a migraine threatened to reign supreme. How could she be pregnant so soon? They had only consummated their marriage twice – the first time, their wedding night, and the second, a few days later. Was it possible to become with child so soon?

 

Seeming to read her thoughts, Sokolov gave a confidant nod. “Oh yes, Lady Venetica, it is indeed possible. Quite possible, actually. All it takes is the right moment of copulation in harmony with your body’s fertility, and there you have it: the conception of a child,” He gave her a tight smile. “No doubt a much . . . _celebrated_ child, this one will be.”

Corvo sent her a look, one that she had to force herself to meet. They were both thinking the same thing: what would Jessamine say to this news being brought to her? How would she _react_ , knowing that they were expecting a child together this soon? She wouldn’t know that they had only slept together twice (neither time, Venetica would label as ‘making love’), which was, apparently, all you needed to conceive a child. What would she think of them? Would she worry herself sick wondering if they had grown closer since their marriage – if they were sleeping together much more than she had originally thought they would?

 

How would she _react_ , faced with the knowledge that eventually, there would be another child gracing the royal nursery alongside her daughter as a playmate – a child of her lover’s seed, but not her own.

 

Princess Emily’s half-brother or sister.

 

The child . . . of her best friend . . .

 

Venetica tore her gaze away from Corvo’s, and they closed against the harsh burn in her eyes that heralded tears. Turning her face into the warm rays of sunlight beaming down onto her through the window she was sitting in front of, her fingers curled against her lips. Again, His face appeared to her: the man in the crowd that she could not banish. She had created girlish fantasies about him in her spare time, and in those quiet, lonely nights spent alone without her husband or anyone else to keep her company. She imagined him being an undercover spy, a dangerous assassin (oh, how right she was about _that_ one, she would laugh later, in hindsight), a dashing pirate, or a charming diplomat from Morley, Tyvia, or Serkonos. It would be a forbidden love, the one she shared with this stranger – a love condemned by the Abbey. It was originally a love shared from afar before they came together by a mere stroke of fate into something fiery and passionate and utterly consuming.

 

She dreamed of their kisses and heated embraces in the shadows; the words of comfort and promise he would coo to her when she bemoaned on how she could never be with him the way she wanted to be. She dreamed heated, feverishly, of their lovemaking; dreams that left her heart thrumming like a wire in her chest. She would awake from them, only to find her gown clinging damply to her hips and breasts with sweat, as well as to the rest of her body, and her back would arch from sheer _need_ . . .!

 

Her worlds built around this man were many, and encompassing. And now, this one piece of information, threatened to destroy all.

 

Her hand moved to splay out over her still flat stomach, where Corvo’s child was no bigger than the head of a pin inside her. A child? Corvo’s child . . . her, a mother, Corvo, a father . . . a child he could claim, and raise, and acknowledge as his own within the court, without fear of the Abbey’s condemnation, or social scrutiny. The only problem, was that she didn’t _want_ this child. This wasn’t what she bargained for, when she married him – this wasn’t what she _wanted_. And while her mother’s voice inside her scolded her for being so naïve as to think a child wouldn’t _eventually_ be brought into the equation, she couldn’t nevertheless feel anything but . . . suffocation.

 

Not now . . . not this _soon_ . . .!

 

_He stood there in the crowd, all tall, broad shoulders, and dark, haunting eyes. In his eyes, she saw the stars – the beautiful stars – and felt the all-encompassing need to get to him . . ._

 

 _Not_ Corvo!

 

But this is what she got, wasn’t it, for agreeing to marry Corvo in the first place? Was this just another way the universe was punishing her?

 

Sokolov was talking again, but Venetica was hardly listening, and she doubted Corvo was, too. The both of them were mired in their own whirling thoughts – wondering what they were going to do about this – wondering how they were going to break the news to _Jessamine_!

 

She jumped when she felt a warm hand curling around hers, and turned a wide-eyed gaze onto Corvo. He wasn’t gazing at her, but at Sokolov, and she turned her attention onto him, as well. From within red-rimmed lids, his eyes flashed. “You will, of course, have to take it easy from here on out, Lady Venetica – the health of your child demands it! I can give you references to numerous midwives that I have worked with in the past, and which I can confirm are very good at their craft. They are also prized for their discretion, if you are interested in such a thing . . .”

 

She nodded, and Sokolov nodded too before gesturing the Lord Protector towards the door. “Walk me out, would you not, Lord Protector? I must have a word with you before I take my leave.”

 

Corvo recoiled slightly in surprise before nodding. Giving her hand a brief, light squeeze, he followed Sokolov as he made a quick way to the door. Conversing in hushed tones, they left, the door closing quietly behind them with a well-oiled ‘click’. They left her there with her thoughts – her dark, poisonous thoughts – and she was only brought out of them by loud voices slowly coming towards her from beyond the door that Corvo and Sokolov had so recently departed through. Brows furrowing in ever-so-slight interest, she turned an inquiring gaze onto the door, only to jump when the loud voices grew steadily closer, until the door burst open seconds later, revealing a huffing Jessamine, eyes wide and fearful.

 

Quickly, her gaze sought her out, and immediately, she moved for her friend. Taking a seat on the velvet footstool beside her, she took up her hand up in hers and turned a slightly fearful gaze onto friend after she pressed her lips to her fingers. “Corvo wouldn’t tell me what was wrong, but he looked . . . oh, Venetica, he looked so _frightened_ , and Sokolov . . . he looked so _grave_! Please, do not keep me in the dark, Venetica – tell me what is wrong!” Her face paled then, and her voice dropped precipitously into a frightened hush. “Is it . . . is it what took your mother? Is it cancer?”

 

Venetica, eyes wide, found her gaze locking with Corvo’s from over the Empress’ head, from where he stood in the doorway watching them. He still held the same impeccable posture that he always did, but his gaze was sheepish. “Jessamine --” He spoke, but Jessamine replied by throwing him a look over her shoulder.

 

“Corvo, _stop_! Whatever it is, I deserve to know! Venetica is my friend, and I love her, and I will support her no matter what!”

 

Venetica sent her a pleading look. “Jessamine, please, understand --!”

 

“Understand _what_?” Jessamine interrupted her, this time, as she whirled her head back around to gaze at her. There was a note of anger in her tone as she shook her head bewilderingly. “Venetica, _what is wrong_?”

 

“She’s pregnant, Jessamine. With my child. Sokolov confirmed it just this afternoon, before you arrived,” Corvo spoke, his voice quiet and surprisingly level, as he answered for her. Jessamine froze, her eyes growing wide, as he continued: “We didn’t intend for it, but it was . . .” He paused, licked his lips, and shifted nervously from foot-to-foot. Jessamine’s grip had tightened considerably on Venetica’s fingers, and a dart of concern lanced through her heart at the sudden tightness. “It just . . . _happened_.”

 

“Just happened?” She breathed out in something closely resembling horror. “How does this _just happen_?”

 

“By how it ‘just happened’ with us.” He replied, in a voice of infinite patience, and Jessamine rose slowly to her feet, shaking her head as she did so.

 

“Oh no . . . no, no, no, Corvo – do _not_ compare this situation to us! You _cannot_!”

 

“And why not?” He demanded, his voice rising slightly. It contained a note of anger that surprised Venetica. It was a note of anger that seemed to rival a slap in the face to Jessamine. “You conceiving Emily surprised us, just as much as Venetica and I conceiving this child, does now. So what’s the difference?”

 

“We _loved_ each other!” Jessamine fired back with particular vehemence. “You said it yourself, you feel _nothing_ for Venetica! So yes, in that regard, it _is_ different!”

 

Corvo slowly shook his head as he took a few steps towards her, and suddenly – keenly – Venetica felt like fleeing from the room. This had suddenly turned into quite an intimate fight between a couple that she wasn’t sure she should be overhearing.

 

“I love Emily, Jessamine. I love you, too – you know this – with every _fiber_ of my being! But I can’t . . . _be_ Emily’s father. This baby, though . . . this baby, is _mine_. I can acknowledge it as freely as I want to, I can parade it around the court as much as I want to -- I can . . .” He trailed off and paused when he noticed Venetica’s wide-eyed look of shock, and the tears that were beading up in Jessamine’s eyes and which were accompanied by her hands slowly balling into fists at her side. He gave a hard swallow. “I can have everything with this baby that I cannot with Emily, _except_ behind closed doors.”

 

Jessamine shook her head. “I had . . . _nothing_ to do with that, Corvo. If I could – if it could be _allowed --_ the truth to Emily’s parentage would be shouted from the very rooftops! But I simply _can’t_!”

 

Corvo nodded, sadly, as he took a few more steps forward. Gently, like he was approaching a mare ready to bolt, he took a firm grip on her upper arms, where his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into her skin through the thin silk clothing them. “I know, Jessamine, I know. But I _can_ with this one. You can understand that, can you?”

 

For a moment, Jessamine stood there, a look on her face suggesting that she very well might consider slapping him, or raging, or _something_ , with Corvo steeling himself appropriately. But then everything crumpled – her face, her body – and suddenly, she looked like the person she must truly be inside: a woman who was Empress over a nation that was suddenly starting to weigh very heavily on her.

 

She shook her head and spoke: “I’m sorry I could never give you what you really wanted,” Corvo shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Jessamine interrupted him by turning around to face Venetica. She gave a wavering, tremulous smile to her friend before returning to her side. Stooping down, she took a firm hold of Venetica’s hand, where she brought the fingers to her lips. Pressing a loving kiss to the knuckles, she continued to smile. “I will do . . . whatever I can to help you, Venetica. Sisters until the end, right?”

 

Venetica couldn’t help but return her smile with one of her own, as well as a nod of her head. “Yes, Jessamine. Sisters until the end.”

   

* * *

                                                                    

"I see everything, I see forever, and right now I see a man walking a tightrope over a sea of blood and filth . . ."

 

Daud heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes as the voice of the Outsider appeared from behind him. There had been other precursors that let him know that the forbidden God had been approaching, but he hadn’t paid them any heed. The Outsider hadn’t bothered him for years, now – had grown bored of him, he had been told – and, quite frankly, the fact hadn’t bothered him. He still retained his powers, still retained his influence over his men . . . who was he to complain if he wasn’t constantly being annoyed by an omnipotent being?

 

Although why he was visiting him _now_ , of all times, couldn’t help but intrigue him. Must be something important, for the ever fickle Outsider to turn his eye onto Old Daud again.

 

“That _would_ be prophetic . . . if my life was leading me down an eventful path, that was.” Daud answered him without turning around from the book he had open before him on his desk. He heard the Outsider chuckle, and the gentle creak of wood as he settled his weight against something.

 

“Oh, Daud, still as caustic as ever, I see. They say your mother possessed the Sight. You claim she possessed nothing more but poisons and hallucinogens, and was ruthless in their administration. However, it does not take one with the Sight to know that someone given my Mark, will always lead an eventful life.”

 

Daud released a snort of laughter. “Then your definition of an eventful life, must be different from mine, Outsider. Been pretty boring around here lately.”

 

There was another chuckle, and another creak of wood. This time, the creak of wood came from the floorboards. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t watch as the Outsider approached him, a small smile on his boyishly handsome face. He didn’t watch as he moved to stand beside him, his unsettling black eyes running up and down his frame – observing him in ways that he hadn’t in decades. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, and pensive, and almost . . . awestruck?

 

“You’ve aged since the last time we spoke, Daud. How long has it been, my old friend? Decades? You were young and handsome, then – the son of a beautiful Pandyssian Witchdoctor, and a Pirate she took to her bed, only with the intention of killing him for her freedom. I wonder . . . I wonder if she knew that she carried a son after the deed was done; if she knew what kind of life he would lead. That he would grow up with her looks, and her power, and that he would do _great_ things with that power. _Terrible_ things, but great.”

 

Daud’s jaw hardened as the Outsider moved, then. He had been standing on his left, and now moved to his right, not once taking his eyes off of him. “You were young, and handsome, and powerful, and with the entire world bowing at your feet, then. I wonder, Daud, if you remember those Golden Years of yours, but something tells me that you do – more often than you would like to admit. Something tells me that you wear your age like a man who thinks he will live forever, because that is always how you have lived, and that is all you know _how_ to live. But then another part of me whispers that, that is just a mask you wear – one you wear around your men because you do not want them to look at you as a man with flaws and fears like them. Another part of me whispers that inside, you’re all-too aware of your age. That you’ve done nothing in your life but grow old a legend, and that you’ve just now realized what a terribly, depressingly empty life that is.”

 

Daud’s hands were slowly rolling into fists as the Outsider spoke, his silky voice filling his head and wrapping around his mind in that insufferable way he had always hated and loathed. “How many times have you lain awake at night, alone and cold in your bed, wondering why you never once stopped and done something for yourself? Why you never stopped long enough to have a family like so many others you took in and raised? To marry that woman you loved, and to have those children and that life you always dreamed of. Was it because you feared for them? Feared for them living a life on the edge of an assassin’s blade like you? Or were you too afraid? Afraid of just how good a father and husband you would be – You, Daud, the Knife of Dunwall, a man whose hands are covered in so much blood, that even I have a hard time looking at them?”

 

“Your _point_?” Daud asked, his tone far too clipped and cold than he had intended, and he saw the Outsider smile out of the corner of his eye.

 

“My point, Daud, is that, along the way, you must have done _something_ right, because you will get one last chance to get everything you have ever wanted, soon. A beautiful wife, beautiful children . . . that lush Serkonan villa and vineyard you’ve always dreamed about. My point, _Daud_ , is that, maybe . . . just maybe, if you keep playing your cards right . . . all that and more might _just_ be in your reach.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

The Outsider’s smile grew just a little bit bigger. “You didn’t think it’d be easy, did you? Oh no, Daud. Oh, no, no, no, no, no – of course it won’t. You’ll have to fight for it. You’ll have to fight, and claw, and bleed, more than you’ve ever fought, and clawed, and bled for something before. And I . . . I’ll be watching. Because I am interest in one thing, Daud, and one thing only: how badly will you fight for what you want more than anything else in the world?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and by the way, I know how it looks -- I really do -- but I promise you guys, that this is NOT a Daud/Corvo love triangle-like thing. Nope. This is just simply filler material that I'm putting in so it doesn't seem too rushed. Sorry to burst everyone's bubble who was kinda hoping for that, but this is strictly a DaudxOC Female thing. Corvo is just there . . . kinda like that tall, brooding lampshade in your living room that doesn't really go with anything but you keep for sentimental value.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this chapter much, much better than the last one. I am also sorry this chapter, and probably the next one, will take great leaps forward in time. It's simply to speed things up a little bit. Daud and Venetica should also finally meet, face-to-face next chapter, so get excited about that! Also, sorry about the length of the chapter. I normally don't like going on for this long, but I couldn't really find a place I would have been content to cut it off at.
> 
> Warning: There are possible trigger warnings in this chapter, especially but not included to:  
> Miscarriage  
> Disturbing Imagery and/or Sleep Paraylsis

* * *

 

 _Six Months Later_ . . .

 

“It is a beautiful day, is it not?”

 

Venetica did not answer Corvo for a moment, and remained content on the gaze she had leveled on the laughing little girl that ran joyously around the courtyard below them. Why Jessamine insisted on clothing her daughter in white when she knew good and well that the Princess Emily would only get them dirty throughout the day, was beyond her. She must run the laundresses mad, Venetica mused, and hardly noticed the smile that had started to grace her features. Corvo did, though, and returned it with one of his own.

 

“She is . . . rather impertinent, is she not?”

 

Venetica nodded, her handhold on the crook of Corvo’s arm tightening slightly as they continued on their stroll. “She is Jessamine’s daughter, through and through.” She spoke before turning her gaze onto him. Corvo nodded in agreement, and met her gaze, cleanly and neatly, and her smile remained. Things had changed between her and Corvo since that day he and Jessamine fought over Venetica’s rather unceremonious pregnancy. He had grown warmer towards her. He stopped going to Jessamine as much, and had started spending more and more time in her company. He sat with her in the afternoons when there was nothing for her to do, reading, or playing cards, or some other equally as tedious thing to take away the drollness of mid-afternoon. He was more inclined to accompany her to salons, and tea-times, than he used to be. At night, his side of the bed was often filled, instead of often empty like it used to be, and while their relationship rarely bordered on sexual, there were times . . . there _were_ times . . .

 

Tearing her gaze away from his, she returned it onto the Princess Emily, who had managed to catch sight of them and call up to them. Beaming, she gave them both an energetic wave before bounding up the stone incline towards them. Corvo smile broadened slightly, while Venetica’s remained the same. Emily was a darling girl – polite, and compassionate, and kind. However, she remained her mother’s daughter, and like her mother, no matter how many times she assured her differently, Venetica still caught glances and gazes from her friend, that she had not caught before her pregnancy. Accusatory, suspicious, betrayal . . . emotions that she had once thought their friendship impervious to, was now riddled with.

 

Venetica did not know how to tell her friend, that even now, when their marriage was better and warmer than it had been, Corvo _still_ was not the man she desired. That there was another, broader but not taller, with eyes that showed her the stars and a touch she only dreamed about.

 

Venetica did not have the heart to tell her friend that this baby – the baby of the man Jessamine loved above any other man . . . was not the baby she wanted.

 

“Corvo! Venetica! So good to see you!” Emily spoke as she finally reached them. Throwing herself into Corvo’s arms, she allowed him to hug her tight for a moment before breaking apart. Smiling, Venetica gave a slight bow, one that Emily returned with an incline of her head.

 

“Princess Emily. How have you been this fine day?” Corvo asked, as he resumed his signature impeccable posture, before returning to Venetica’s side. Emily gave a shrug, the beam disappearing from her face, only to be replaced with a slightly glummer one.

 

“Mother says I have to resume my studies in an hour. I’ve been trying to find a way to get out of them . . .” She trailed off, and Corvo chuckled and shook his head.

 

 “Emily, you should do what your mother tells you.” He told her, and Emily gave another shrug.

 

 “I _know_. But studies are so _boring_!” She replied, and even this caused Venetica’s smile to widen slightly. Oh, how much like Jessamine her daughter was. Stubborn, impertinent, fierce . . . given time and care, Emily would grow to be a fine Empress, given the fact that a son was not eventually borne to her mother. Venetica glanced at Corvo at this thought, wondered if he would be the father to that son, even _after_ this child was borne to them, and then eventually shook the thoughts from her head. It was no use thinking such poisonous things. She was trapped, however she looked at it. And it had been a trap entirely of her own making.

 

Corvo had been caught in an animated conversation with Emily while Venetica had submerged herself in her own thoughts. Smiling, she gently extricated herself from the company of the two of them, with the excuse that she would like to continue on their walk on her own. Corvo allowed a slight frown to grace his features at her words, but nevertheless gave a nod of acceptance. Venetica gave Emily another slight bow that the Princess hardly acknowledged in her excitement, before moving off down the path. Hand pressed against her rounded stomach, where her pregnancy was now plain to see by all, she heaved a sigh, and shook her head.

 

Corvo, a baby . . . once again, she found herself shell-shocked by the speed at which her life had changed since their marriage – at how fast she was going to start a family. And while it was a family she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted (not with _him_ , anyway), she could nevertheless feel trapped and chained by the sudden twist of fate her life had taken. Once, her thoughts had been consumed by the man in the crowd who had haunted her nights and thoughts – and who still did! Once, she had fantasized of who he was – day-dreamed of how he would ride in one day on a silver steed, and whisk her away from this – from _everything_! Oh, what foolish thoughts those were! Now, they were content to remain just that: the foolish thoughts of a naïve young woman who had made the biggest mistake of her life.

 

Oh, _why_ had she not listened to her father the night she sought out his advice?

 

“Troubled . . . my Lady?”

 

Eyes growing wide with surprise, Venetica came to a stop when the words, spoken on a friendly tongue, reached her. Turning around, her eyes settled onto a young man leaning on the cement wall a few paces away from her. He was good-looking, in a boyish way. Golden blonde hair, deep green eyes, and aquiline features. She supposed this would be the kind of young man who would have quite a few ladies of the court, swooning upon sight of him.

 

With a genial, friendly smile on his face, he inclined his head to her. “Forgive me, my Lady, if I startled you. That was not my intention.”

 

“Oh?” She asked with a raised brow as she turned to face him fully, her hands moving to clasp in front of her stomach. “And what was your intention, good sir?”

 

His smile grew a little wider as he pushed himself off the wall and moved to join her. Performing a flamboyant bow, he introduced himself. “Please, forgive me, I am not normally so callous! My name is Thomas. And you . . . are the Lady Venetica Attano, are you not?”

 

Stiffly, Venetica nodded her head. “Yes. I am the Lord Protector’s wife.”

 

Thomas’ brows furrowed slightly as he canted his head, his smile turning to one of slight mischievousness. “Dour man to be married to, is he not, the Lord Protector? And you, you’re so pretty, and so young – how do you stand it?” His eyes flashed slightly in the bright light of the sun shining down upon them, but it wasn’t a dangerous flash. It was one of something best resembling amusement. “Forgive me for being so bold, but pregnancy suits you, my Lady Venetica. How you seem to _glow_!”

 

Venetica stood there for a moment in shock. Shock, at just how insolent this man’s words were! But then again, as she stood there and gazed at him – observed him – she found that the words didn’t sound nearly as rude to her ears as she knew they should. In fact, the words, coupled with his easy demeanor, that amused twinkle in his eye, and mischievous smile, was downright _cheeky_.

 

But in a good way.

 

Her brow arched again as her head rose. “Do you find this . . . _demeanor_ , of yours, attracts the most women, Sir Thomas?”

 

Thomas broke out into an easy laugh then, and shook his head. “Women? Men? Who has the time, Lady Venetica, in my profession, for such frivolous pursuits?”

 

Venetica’s brows furrowed in curiosity. “And what _is_ your profession, Sir Thomas? I confess, that this is the first time I have laid eyes on you. And I fancy thinking I know many people of the court.”

 

Thomas adopted another mischievous look as he shook his head and tsked. “Nuh, uh, uh, I cannot say, Lady Venetica. Not yet. But you will know soon. I promise you that.”

 

His words, while spoken on that same friendly tongue, nevertheless served to send shivers down her spine. Her skin suddenly felt electric, her heart pounded like a mad drum in her chest . . . and she had no idea why.

 

Opening her mouth to speak, Thomas shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Gently, he shushed her, as slowly, he crossed the distance between them. Eyes continuing to flash in the bright light, she shivered as a light hand appeared on her hip – as lips moved to caress the outermost molecules of her ear. Whatever his words – however flippantly he had replied to her demeanor attracting women, she knew . . . this man could charm the devil himself if he so wanted.

 

“Remember the crowd,” He whispered, and while the hairs on her back of her neck stood on end at his words, she knew – she _knew_ – this charm was from someone else. He was merely the channel for it. “He has not forgotten you, and prays that you have not forgotten him.”

 

Swallowing heavily, she fought to ask: “Who?”

 

She felt his lips curve up into a smile against the shell of her ear. “You know who. The one man who alones, holds dominion over your thoughts and desires. The man who dreams of your touch, just as much as you dream of his.”

 

“Venetica!”

 

There was Corvo’s voice, loud and slightly alarmed, and despite it, she felt Thomas’ smiling remaining. Gently, he squeezed her hip. “I must go now, my Lady. My message has been delivered, and my presence is no longer needed here.”

 

It was on the tip of Venetica’s tongue to ask him to wait, but she felt Corvo rapidly approaching them, and knew it wasn’t safe. Teasingly, he pulled away, but not before brushing his lips against hers, and even that, seemed like a gift from someone else. Turning, he moved quickly away, only to melt into the shadows and disappear. Heart continuing to thrum in her chest, she at first did not notice Corvo moving to stand beside her. She only took notice when his hand wrapped around her arm, where he turned her to face him while speaking her name on a tone drenched in concern.

 

“Venetica, are you alright? Who was that?”

 

She detected the slight jealously and suspicion in his tone quite easily, but did not deign to acknowledge it. Instead, she continued to gaze at the spot where Thomas had so recently disappeared into the shadows, feeling numb but strangely revitalized.

 

“No one,” She murmured as she latched a strong grip onto Corvo’s arm. Brows furrowing, he glanced down at her hand, white-knuckling the silk of his shirt, before returning his gaze onto her. “He was no one, Corvo.”

 

“Venetica, are you sure? You don’t look alright.” He told her, and she shook her head.

 

“No, I’m fine. I’m just . . . I feel a woozy from the heat. May I return to our rooms for an hour or two?” She asked, and Corvo nodded, taking a keen notice of the way she refused to tear her eyes away from an indistinguishable spot in the shadows.

 

“Yes, of course, you may. Do you wish for me to help you?”

 

Allowing a tight smile to appear on her face, Venetica shook her head and finally managed to tear her eyes away. Turning her gaze onto him, he found something different within it that couldn’t help but alarm him. He couldn’t exactly place his finger on it, but it was there, all the same.

 

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at dinner?” She asked, and wordlessly, Corvo nodded as she released him, forcing him to release her, as well. Numbly, he watched her walk up the path to the slight incline that would return her to the cool interior of the palace. He took notice of the way she trembled, but not from fear. Fear, he knew like a lover’s caress. No . . . no, this trembling was something entirely different.

 

It was the trembling of anticipation.

 

But who was she anticipating?

 

* * *

 

 

It was quiet for once. Absolutely quiet. No doors slammed in the distance, no heavy sounds of boot clad feet descending on wooden floors. No subtle swishing of the air that told one who was familiar with the dark arts, that someone had just used ‘Blink’. There were no sounds of training, no talk, no laughter, and no. Whispering.

 

Just the sound of the ebbing and flowing of the waves from beyond the opened doors of his balcony.

 

Absolute silence. Peace.

 

For so long, Daud had lived without either, that he had barely recognized what they were when he had finally taken notice of them. And when he did, it was like everything had ceased to matter. He dropped the pen he had been writing with, pushed away the tumbler of bourbon he had been nursing, sat back in his chair, and simply . . . relaxed.

 

Silence. Peace. _Relaxation_ . . . even the words felt foreign on his tongue. They were like a separate language that he had not spoken in so long, he had forgotten some of the words.

 

Giving a quiet chuckle, he heaved a silent sigh as he allowed his head to fall back against his chair. His eyes closed, his fingers knitted together across the tight banding of his stomach, and for a moment, he allowed himself to submerge completely in his surroundings. His walls came down, his heart and mind lay bare . . . it was just him, the sounds of the waves from outside his balcony doors, and the beautiful, _beautiful_ peace that surrounded him.

 

And, of course, that had to come crashing down, right when he was getting used to it.

 

“So, Daud, I’m back from my little mission, and I’ll have you know --!”

 

“ _Shhhh_!”

 

Thomas froze, eyes wide, halfway across the space that spanned Daud and his desk, and the glass double doors that separated his quarters from the rest of the hideout, and from which Thomas had so recently entered through. Brows furrowing in slight confusion, he canted his head to the side and stood there for a moment, watching, as Daud covered his closed eyes with one hand while holding up his other in a silencing gesture. He grimaced and after a moment, shook his head and cursed.

 

“Shit! Never mind . . . fucking lost it. What do you want?”

 

Thomas remained in the same position. “I . . . I’m sorry, but was I interrupting something?”

 

Daud heaved a sigh and shook his head as he got to his feet. “No, but come to think of it, you _should_ get in the habit of knocking more.”

 

Thomas shot him a look as Daud gestured him forward. “I made the acquaintance of Lady Venetica Attano this afternoon.”

 

Daud sent him an arched brow. “And?”

 

“ _And_ . . . she’s quite pretty. And pregnant.”

 

Daud’s brows shot up. “Pregnant?”

 

Thomas nodded. “Yes, _very_ pregnant. I’d say . . . six, seven months?” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, I’m not a physician or anything, but . . .” He trailed off with an indifferent shrug, and Daud nodded, slowly.

 

“That was quick.”

 

“Did I say she was pretty?” Thomas spoke, as a brow arched in amusement. “Would it really be so hard to believe that Corvo would be bedding her every chance he got? Not every day a man marries a woman that pretty in Dunwall!”

 

Daud shook his head and moved over to one of the windows lining his study, where he gazed out at the landscape beyond. “No . . . pregnancy had to have been a mistake – or a surprise. The Lord Protector is much too devoted to his Empress, for it to have been planned, and it’s much too soon for it, too. No one plans a child two months into a marriage. That’s just inviting disaster in.”

 

Thomas gave another shrug. “Well, she seemed . . . _receptive_ , to your message, I think. Perhaps she does not want the child?”

 

Daud stood there for a moment, appearing deep in thought, one hand curled at his lips. After a moment, he gave a slow shrug. “Perhaps? Makes sense . . . trapped in a marriage of her own design with a man she does not love, and suddenly find herself with child. And this isn’t any child, oh no – this is the child of the man who is her best friend’s _lover_. A high profile child, even from within the womb. Would _you_ be happy?” He asked while throwing a thoughtful, almost amused look over his shoulder to Thomas, who gave a shrug.

 

“She seemed a little troubled when I intercepted her in the gardens. She had been walking with Corvo. He seemed happy, but she . . . seemed not, as much.”

 

Daud nodded. “Good,” He ran his fingers through his hair before turning his back on Thomas to head back to his desk. “I have information that has been at the forefront of my attention for a while, now. I’ve been trying to figure out how best to utilize it. Normally, it’s my job to bury information, not harbor it. And now that I think about it, it’s information that I think the Lord Protector would be very interested in. In fact, I might go pay him a visit soon. Maybe run into the Lady Venetica while I’m there . . .”

 

Thomas’ eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Forgive me, Daud, but do you think that wise? You _are_ the Knife of Dunwall, after all. Something tells me your presence in the palace would not exactly be heralded with trumpeters and a feast!”

 

Daud chuckled as he slid out his chair and eased himself into it. Throwing an arched brow Thomas’ way, he gave a tight smile. “Now, when have you ever known me to turn down a challenge, Thomas?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Esma Boyle expressed her desire to have tea with us sometime in the near future,” Corvo spoke later that night, after dinner, when they were back within the relative comfort of their rooms. Venetica couldn’t help but heave a sigh and roll her eyes as she sat there in front of her vanity, nimble fingers quickly undoing the clasps to her earrings. “I said I would talk to you about it.”

 

“Why? You already know my answer.”

 

Corvo heaved a sigh of his own. “Venetica, please. You know we have to --”

 

“You know I loathe the Boyle sisters, Corvo – every single one of them! They’re nothing more but power-hungry, moneygrubbing spinsters. Even Jessamine only entertains them simply because Waverly controls a vast fortune inherited from the death of her husband!” Venetica interrupted him, a tad scathingly, as she placed her earrings in a nearby velvet lined jewelry box.

 

“ _Exactly_!” He replied, a note of irritation in his voice, as he turned to face her. “Jessamine entertains them because she knows the power they wield. Or . . . have the _potential_ to wield. And since _you_ are the Empress’ dearest friend and closest confidante, and _I_ am the Lord Protector, it would be unseemly if we are not seen fraternizing with those the Empress does, at least on a semi-regular basis.”

 

Venetica remained silent for a moment, content to observe him through the polished glass of her mirror. After a moment, she picked up her brush and gave a sniff as she began running the bristles through her hair. “No one takes them seriously, you know. Everyone looks at them with pity. So overdramatic, and those _parties_ they throw . . . why all the ostentatiousness and gaudiness? Who do they think they’re impressing?” She trailed off, suddenly at a loss for words, and Corvo gave her a small, sympathetic smile as he crossed the distance separating them.

 

“ _Enough_ people take them seriously, Venetica. Enough to cast aspersions on us if we aren’t careful. After all . . . you have heard the rumors, haven’t you? That one of them is the lover to the Royal Spymaster?” He spoke, gently, as he placed his hands on her shoulders. Through the glass, their gazes met, and she had to fight to not admit how good his thumbs felt rubbing soothing circles into the back of her neck.

 

She gave another roll of her eyes. “I have, but I doubt there’s a lick of truth to them. Burrows has the personality of a river krust, and . . .” Her nose wrinkled as she briefly paused in the brushing of her hair. “I can’t see any of the Boyle sisters climbing down off their high horses long enough to even _consider_ bedding a man like him!”

 

Corvo chuckled and stepped back as she rose to her feet. Brushing her hair as she went, she swept around the stool, and past him, where she moved into the bedroom. Their plush four poster had been calling to her with the sweetest Siren’s song since they arrived, and she anticipated greeting the luxurious covers like an absent lover.

 

“You coming to bed?”

 

Corvo nodded as he moved over to the nearby desk piled with papers and books. Picking up an empty goblet off a nearby tray, he poured himself a glass of Tyvian Red as he moved. “I will in a minute. I have a few documents I need to go over before tomorrow’s Small Council meeting.” He called back, but she didn’t answer him. Humming lightly to herself, Venetica placed her brush on her end table before pulling down the covers of the bed. Corvo would come to bed when he was ready, but she was more than exhausted. Hopping up on the high surface, she quickly fluffed her pillows before sliding into the cool sheets with an almost orgasmic sigh. Closing her eyes in contentment, she smiled as she felt her bones began to ease into relaxation. By the Outsider, she had been looking forward to this all day!

 

She had been lying there for only a few moments, when she felt a curious tingling sensation bloom throughout her body. Starting in her feet and legs, it moved quickly upwards until it reached her neck and head. When it was done, she found herself – terrifyingly – completely conscious, but unable to move anything but her eyes.

 

_What the . . . what is happening?_

 

The room had gone gloomy all of a sudden – like something had taken the electrical lights and turned them down a few notches. In fact, the light seemed to turn a warmer hue – something that steadily became darker and darker until it resembled something along the lines of a . . . scarlet color.

 

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. Hell, she could barely even _breathe_. And the longer she lay there, the more her mind whirled with the possibilities of what this was, and the harder her heart pounded in her chest. Multiple times, she tried crying out to Corvo, but she couldn’t move her lips and tongue, too. She was completely and utterly paralyzed.

 

That’s when she saw him.

 

He originated as a black shadow in one of the corners. Stepping forward, seemingly to peel himself away from the wall like paint, he appeared as nothing more but a shadow man. Moving disjointedly towards her, she felt tears come to her eyes as she could do nothing more but lay there and watch as he drew closer to her. Slowly, his hand and arm jerking like it was constantly being snapped with electricity, he reached out to hers. Whimpering inwardly, she watched as his hand reached further and further out to her . . . before descending.

 

Right onto her stomach.

 

If she could have screamed at that moment, she definitely would have been screaming then. She would have woke the whole castle, she would have been screaming so loud – and _definitely_ would have caught Corvo’s attention from within the next room. The being’s touch was icy hot to the touch – and _searing_. Tears streamed down her cheeks while inside, she screamed her mental throat ragged. It was like he was pulling something from her – something that _refused_ and _clung_ to her like sandpaper.

 

It wasn’t until there was great “Pop” – like something had finally snapped inside her – for her to realize what the being had been ripping from her.

 

Her child.

 

Her eyes widened as she lay there, completely and utterly helpless, as the being slowly brought into view a tiny pink mass of flesh that could only have been her unborn child. Feeling bile rise up in her throat, she feared she would suffocate to death. However – mercifully – her vision chose that time to blacken, and when she opened her eyes again, it was like everything was normal. She could move, she could breathe – it had been nothing more but a nightmare – a terrible, terrible nightmare.

 

A nightmare, however, did not explain the strange wetness between her legs, though, or why there was a curious, twisting ache deep within her stomach.

 

“C-Corvo . . .?” She spoke, trembling, as she grasped the coverlets in one shaking hand. Vaguely, she registered him replying to her with a yes, however, her breath tore from her lungs and her vision narrowed as she tore back the coverlets, only to see the sea of red between her thighs.

 

“CORVO!”

 

There was a crash from the other room, and the pounding of boots on the floor as Corvo sprinted into their room. Eyes wide, chest heaving, hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword, he stood there, frozen with shock when he saw that his wife’s attacker wasn’t someone else . . . but Nature.

 

“Oh my God . . . Venetica . . .!” He murmured in horror, and Venetica felt tears bead in her eyes as she struggled to her knees. Her heart pounded, fear and adrenaline sped through her system . . . she had lived her life up till that point, unsure if she wanted the child. Now that she knelt there, a sea of blood between her legs that signified the loss of her child, she was . . . she was terrified. Terrified to lose it.

 

“Corvo, I don’t . . .” She shook her head, her tears thickening. "Corvo, I don't want to lose it -- _do something_!" Gasping for the breath she did not have through her tears, she repeated the command, only for Corvo to quickly begin backpedaling towards the door.

 

“Guards! _Guards_!”

 

The doors burst open but Corvo caught them before they could see too much. He did, however, allow a few of Venetica’s maidservants to push past them. Venetica was the only witness to their looks of horror and worry when they entered the bedroom, only to see what had alarmed the Lord Protector so.

 

Venetica, chest heaving with sobs, heard Corvo bark at the guards who had arrived, to go fetch Sokolov, and with as much due haste as they could muster. As they ran off to do his bidding, she heard him approach the bedroom. Turning her eyes onto him, she could see the fear, and the horror (so much _horror_!) and the utter, heartbreaking look of loss echoing in his eyes. Her hands flew between her legs, tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood, and when that proved useless, crumpled in on herself, sobbing.

 

She didn’t want to lose it.

 

Not now.

 

Not ever.

 

* * *

 

 

"How is she?”

 

Sokolov heaved a sigh as he snapped his bag closed and turned to face an exhausted Corvo. The Tyvian doctor’s face was set in a grim mask, and as he peeled off his bloody gloves and handed them off to a servant whose arms were already full of bloody linen, he shook his head.

 

“I won’t lie to you, Lord Protector. This was bad – she lost a lot of blood. We’re lucky she survived.”

 

Corvo nodded and turned to gaze through the opened doors to the bedroom, where Venetica finally lay sleeping in their bed. She looked gaunt and ashy – with dark bags underneath her eyes. Beside her, Jessamine sat, humming to her gently as she stroked her hair – like she would often do when Emily was sick or had nightmares of her own. It seemed strange to him . . . how one’s life could go from being bright and hopeful, to taking a tailspin into despair.

 

“So, forgive me, but you must understand why I ask this,” Sokolov continued, drawing Corvo’s attention back to him. “Did something happen tonight, to cause this? Something not at all natural?”

 

Corvo’s brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean? Like poison?”

 

Sokolov gave an almost weary shrug of his shoulders. “Lady Venetica _is_ a noblewoman with close ties to the Empress. It is entirely likely this could have been brought about by poison. In fact, I know of a particularly rare -- but quite easily acquirable if you know who to talk to -- strand that grows off the Eastern coast of Morley that is used _specifically_ to induce miscarriages. When used within the first trimester, it is relatively harmless to the mother. However, when used _outside_ of the first trimester, it can have . . . _disastrous_ complications,” Corvo’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Sokolov forging onwards, kept him silent. “I will, of course, have to autopsy your son to make sure --”

 

“Wait, son?” Corvo interrupted him, his brows furrowing slightly as he held up a hand. His throat constricted, and his eyes blurred with tears. “I . . . _we_ had a son?”

 

Sokolov’s lips pursed into a fine line. “You _did_ have a son. And if you want me to get to the bottom of why he died, you allow me to autopsy him. I will, of course, return the body to you for burial, but if this is important to you --!”

 

“Yes, yes!” Corvo interrupted him again with a wave of his hand and a face set with determination. “Autopsy him. Find out what happened to her to make her lose the child,” His face softened as he turned it once again towards the bedroom where his wife fitfully slept. “I know she didn’t want the child, Sokolov. I suspected as much throughout these six months. But at the end . . . when she knelt there on the bed, surrounded in a pool of her own blood, she . . .” He trailed off and swallowed hard. “She wanted him, I know she did. I know she will want to know why, too. So do it, Sokolov. And please . . . do it quickly.”

 

Sokolov nodded and with respectful incline of his head, picked up his doctor’s bag before moving over to the bundled, bloodied sheet lying on the nearby table that would have been the son of Corvo and Venetica Attano. Picking him up with as much reverence as he could, Sokolov looked back briefly when he approached the door. Corvo was sitting in a chair, face buried in his hands, shoulders heaving.     


	6. Chapter Six

_One Year Later . . ._

 

Everything glitters around her like polished jewels – like diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. They were brighter, even, than those she was wearing: the sparkling diamond wedding ring around her finger that weighed heavier and heavier the longer she wore it; the polished, but modest ruby necklace that hung around her neck – the heavy gold of an entwining serpent with onyxes for eyes that had coiled itself around her slender wrist . . .

 

Plague ravaged the city, even then, but here, in the palace, there was no plague. Such things were mere rumors – wisps on the wind to be paid no heed. And besides, the plague only attached itself to the poor; why else would the poorer districts had been ravaged, but not the middle-upper class neighborhoods of which Venetica and her peers, most often frequented? Plague could not reach the highborn, everyone spoke with solemn gravitas that evening while wearing their fancy, grotesque masks, silks clothes, and while cradling their expensive wine, and scotch, and bourbon in their gloved hands – such a foolish notion to even consider!

 

Venetica herself, stood among a group of her fellow ladies – those whose duty it was in life to serve the Empress. A glass of Tyvian Red was in her gloved hand, something that had been placed there earlier in the evening. She sipped from it casually – socially – while those grouped around her, imbibed themselves liberally of the Empress’ generosity. Venetica . . . Venetica chose to remain sober in such events as these. Who only knew if the Empress would need a sober lady later in the evening? That, and she knew Corvo detested it when she got drunk at parties.

 

 _Which had only happened once_! She thought, a tad bitterly, as the memory returned to her. She took a conservative sip of the wine in her hand. _And who can blame me for it? Suffering from the miscarriage, I was dragged out and paraded around alongside Jessamine, while having to suffer through those_ infuriating _“I’m sorrys” and “It must have been_ terrible _for yous!"_

 

Shaking her head, her eyes scanned the ballroom stretched out around her. Decorated ornately, with splashing champagne and wine fountains, and tables heaped with food, confetti covered the floor and occasionally rained down upon them from the ceiling. It was the Empress’ birthday – an event celebrated all-throughout the Empire. Jessamine was thirty-one this year, the same as her. Only difference: her birthday party had been nowhere _near_ as lavish and ornate.

 

“Oh, have you heard?” The lady nearest to her, chirped up, her voice slurring slightly, and Venetica turned a polite gaze onto her along with the rest of them, despite the woman’s question being directed primarily towards _her_. One of Venetica’s eyebrows arched slightly.

 

“Heard what?”

 

The lady gave a rather obnoxious laugh, and swatted her playfully on the arm. “Oh, come now, Venetica, darling, don’t _tell_ me you haven’t heard! And with you being as close to the Empress as you are . . .!”

 

Irritation began licking its way along her veins as she stood there glaring at the half-drunk woman. Gritting her teeth in slight anger, Venetica forced herself to give a tight smile. “No, I am afraid that I haven’t heard, dear. Pray tell, enlighten me, would you . . .?”

 

The woman nodded, her good cheer gone in favor of a look of solemnity as she moved to drain her wine glass. Holding up a finger, Venetica was forced to wait until she was done before hearing what it was her fellow lady had to say.

 

“It’s a _scandal_ , is what it is!” She spoke with a confidant nod, as she replaced her empty wine glass with a fresh one that she had grabbed from one of the trays moving through the crowd. “If it’s true, that is!”

 

“If _what_ is true?” Venetica asked, her irritation growing slightly with impatience, but the woman did not seem to take notice of the slight bite to her tone. She simply carried off as if they were discussing something as mundane as tea flavors.

 

“There are rumors that Lady Boyle had her husband killed.”

 

This was said so matter-of-factly, that the irritation immediately left her system, leaving her surprised, instead. With a blink of her eyes, Venetica recoiled slightly. “Killed? But why?”

 

The lady gave a shrug. “There are many rumors. My favorite is that she could inherit his vast fortune so that she could fund the exploits of her lover. Whatever those exploits might be.”

 

“And who’s her lover?” One of the other ladies asked, their eyes wide with glee, and the woman’s smile turned sly and secretive. Her voice lowered to an obnoxiously loud whisper.

 

“Who do you think? The Royal Spymaster _himself_!”

 

The ladies gave an appropriately loud gasp of shock, but Venetica did not. While the news did surprise her, she did not find herself vocalizing her shock like the others. She supposed she had been around Corvo much too much to allow herself to wear her emotions so freely. Instead, she turned to gaze over her shoulder at the tall, spindly Spymaster standing in front of one of the roaring fireplaces, surrounded by top-level Guard Captains and Overseers. Her brow arched as she observed him. From what she remembered, Waverly Boyle was a pretty woman – if not a little plain. She did, however, have power, as well as riches, now that her husband was dead. Try as she might, though, Venetica could not take the woman’s words seriously. From what she had understood, Waverly had loved her husband – as much as a woman of her personality could, anyway. Having him killed off for those reasons – having him killed _at all_ \-- did not seem like something Waverly would do. That, and she had a hard time believing a woman like her would be sexually attracted to someone resembling the Royal Spymaster at _all_.

 

“Did you see where he is installing those strange music boxes in every room?” One of the other ladies piped up, bringing Venetica’s attention back to the conversation at hand. The lady shook her head as her face screwed up in distaste. “I don’t like them. They feel _strange_ to me. Have you noticed that?”

 

“They are supposed to be protection against the Outsider.” Another lady spoke up. “My Claude told me.”

 

“Is that really necessary, though?” A third spoke up, a note of hesitancy in her voice and on her face. “Are we really in _that_ much danger from the Outsider?”

 

“The Abbey certainly thinks so,” Venetica replied, her voice quiet, as the pad of her pointer finger ran along the rim of her wine glass. “But Corvo thinks it’s all a bunch of hogwash.”

 

“Are they installed in _your_ apartments, Venetica?” The second lady asked, with an inquiring arch of her brow, and Venetica nodded.

 

“Yes. Corvo didn’t want them at first, but Jessamine insisted. ‘Anything to placate the Abbey,’ she said,” She gave a shrug. “They go unused. No reason _to_ use them, Corvo says.”

 

The third lady heaved a sigh, and shook her head. “It must be nice,” She spoke. “To be under the protection of the Lord Protector as you are, Venetica. Of _course_ you wouldn’t need stupid little music boxes when you have _him_ protecting you!”

 

Venetica gave a terse smile and a laugh, but didn’t answer her. She instead, forced herself to take another sip of her wine. Automatically, her eyes sought out Corvo’s intimidating presence from within the crowds, and she found him – easily enough – by the Empress and Princess Emily’s sides. Eyes forever scanning the crowd, face blank and unreadable – briefly, their eyes caught and held, before moving elsewhere.

 

And that was it. The extent of their contact with each other.

 

The miscarriage had hit her hard. It had hit Corvo infinitely harder. If she had called him distant and cold around her before, well . . . now, he was downright _glacier_ towards her.

 

Oh, how much he had wanted that baby. More than anything, she knew. And she had lost it . . . just like that. In a scarlet sea of blood and salt.

 

Blinking back the heavy burn of tears behind her eyes, Venetica forced a tight smile to her face before inclining her head to the ladies that surrounded her. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies . . .” She spoke, and they all nodded as she turned and left. Disinterested in her now, they returned to their petty conversations as Venetica steered herself numbly through the crowd. Not all that aware of where she was going, she was conscious of her feet leading her towards the double doors and the staircase beyond – the staircase that would lead her to the second floor and the apartments she shared with Corvo.

 

The apartments he had not shared with her for over a year.

 

Draining her wine glass as she neared the doors, she placed it down on the nearby table before settling a hand on the wood of the door with the intent of pushing it open. She stopped, however, when she felt a firm, but gentle grip wrapping around her upper arm. Turning to face the person who was stopping her, her eyes widened when she found she recognized him . . . slightly.

 

There was a mischievous smile on his face as gave her a slight bow. “Leaving us so soon? Is the party not to your liking, Lady Venetica?”

 

Venetica gave a slow shake of her head. “I know you . . . you’re the man from the garden, aren’t you?”

 

His smile widened slightly. “I am pleased you remember me.”

 

She nodded. “Same. What are you doing here?”

 

The young man seemed genuinely affronted at her words. “Can I not celebrate the Empress’ birthday like all the rest of the Empire?” He asked, and she gave a slow nod.

 

“Yes, that is your right, but . . . typically, an invitation is needed to gain admittance to the royal birthday party here in the palace. And considering I was in the charge of the guest list, I do not remember a Mr. --”

 

"Thomas Rainier, my Lady.”

 

“Thomas Rainier, on the guest list,” She arched a brow. “So either you stole it, forged a copy, or somehow got yourself on the guest list. Which is it?”

 

That small, secretive smile was back in place as he leaned into her slightly, his voice lowering dramatically. “Let’s just say . . . my Master is a rather powerful man. _He_ pulled a few strings and got me and a few of my compatriots, on the guest list.”

 

Her brows furrowed slightly. “Your _Master_? And who is he?”

 

Thomas shook his head and tsked. Taking broad, sweeping steps, he circled her quickly before returning to the same place he had been occupying in front of her. “Nuh uh, uh, uh, Lady Venetica – _not yet_! But . . . you will know him soon, I promise. In fact, I think he plans to make your acquaintance sooner than you think . . .”

 

“Do I know this man?”

 

Thomas appeared thoughtful for a moment before slowly nodding his head. “Yes . . . yes, I think you do, but not in the way you’re expecting. _Everyone_ in Dunwall has heard of my Master, Lady Venetica, in some shape, form, or fashion. Although . . . very few are lucky to make his acquaintance on amicable terms.”

           

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

           

“Dance with me.”

           

Her brows rose, and her eyes widened at his sudden change of subject. “Excuse me?”

           

Thomas continued to smile. “When was the last time you danced, Lady Venetica?”

           

She shook her head. “I don’t think . . . I-I can’t . . .” She trailed off, utterly at a loss as to what to say, and eventually, gave another, wearier shake of her head. “I can’t remember.”

           

Thomas’ expression dissolved into one of sympathy. “And that simply will not do, Lady Venetica – not for me, anyway! So come – have a dance with me! And afterwards, you might be lucky enough to make my Master’s acquaintance, if he deems the time appropriate.”

           

His hand was held out to her, and after a moment of glaring at it, she slowly placed her hand in his. Her eyes flickered onto his. “Where?”

           

Thomas looked away, smiled, and gave a shrug. “Depends . . . he’ll want to come to you, I think.”

           

The words sent a shiver down Venetica’s spine, but nevertheless, she allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor, where already, couples were engaged in a lively Serkonan dance. Allowing him to lead her through the steps, she was surprised at the amount of fun she had, as she allowed the charming young man to lead her through dance after dance after dance – until she stood afterwards, completely breathless and voice hoarse from laughter. And throughout the span of time that had her on the dance floor, she could feel Corvo’s gaze burning like hot coals into her back, and knew he would have a few choice words for her later.

           

But she found that she didn’t care. It was the most fun she had, had in years, she decided. And damn Corvo if he tried to take it from her.

 

* * *

 

 

He stalked them through the crowd like a wolf to its prey. Hanging on to the fringes of the various groups, he watched – silently, and impassively – as Thomas twirled her around the dance floor like he had asked. Silently – never staying for long in the same place, lest he was recognized -- he watched, as that blank expression of hers, eventually gave way to a softer one. He watched as the lines of her face unfurrowed; as the corners of her mouth lifted. He watched, a small smile growing on his own face, as she was eventually given over to grins, and beams, and bursts of joyful laughter as Thomas worked his charming magic.

           

The bright lights beaming down from the chandeliers overhead, sparkled upon her jewels as Thomas led her around the dance floor in a blur of fine red and black silk. From across the room, he took notice of the way Corvo’s eyes lingered on them: on his wife dancing with a handsome young noble with the hair the color of spun gold, and features so finely chiseled, they might-as-well have been a work of art.

           

Daud scoffed at this. He scoffed at the whole scene. However, he would have stood there until the end of days, if only it meant watching her beam and laugh.

           

His only regret was that it wasn’t him spinning her around the dance floor in Thomas’ place.

 

* * *

 

 

Venetica returned to her apartments later that night after the party ended and it came time for her to part from Thomas’ company. She left him with a grin on her face, and laughter in her heart, only to be drawn to a sudden, almost stumbling stop as soon as she entered her rooms. She heard the door click shut behind her with its usual well-oiled fluidity, and it was then, that the feeling truly set in with an almost alarming brevity, that something was amiss. The air itself was wrong – as if it . . . _sparked_ and jumped around her. She wasn’t alone, any longer, and something instinctual and primal, deep in her gut, told her so.

           

Making a quick jump for the lever hidden within the bookcase, she gasped out when a thick arm lunged out of the shadows, only to snake around her waist. It jerked her backwards against a muscular chest that felt akin to a brick wall behind her. The arm briefly moved, only to reappear wrapped around her throat seconds later – far too quickly for her to counter. Panic flooded her system, and her hands shot upwards to latch onto the wrist and hand. She felt corded muscle lying inert underneath the red jacket the man was wearing, and again, panic swept through her frame. This man . . . _who_ was this man, and what did he want with her?

           

But wait! Her mind whirled as her eyes took in the fine weave of the red jacket. Hadn’t the man in the crowd worn a red jacket completely identical to this one? And hadn’t Thomas mentioned something about his Master choosing to make her acquaintance that night?

 

The voice, when it finally appeared in her ear, was husky, quiet, and a deep baritone – a little frightening and unsettling – as well as a little more than amused. “Your instincts are very good, sweetheart. Too bad you had a man who could move much faster than you ever could think to.”

           

Venetica’s breath hitched as her heart began thrumming like a wire in her chest. What if this was indeed the man who had haunted her thoughts and dreams for over a year now – the man who was Thomas’ so-called “Master”? What would she do – what would she _say_?

 

“What . . . what do you want with me?” She asked, trying her damndest to keep her voice as level and calm as she could, and when he replied, she immediately plucked out the note of surprise that was there. He was surprised she was being so calm whereas most women would have been screaming their heads off while sobbing and/or begging him to not hurt them and to let them go.

           

“The Lord Protector. Where is he?”

           

Venetica stiffened slightly. Corvo? What would he want with Corvo? Wasn’t he there to meet _her_ , like Thomas said?

           

She shook her head. “He’s not here.”

           

“These are his apartments, aren’t they? And you’re his wife, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know where your husband is?”

           

She looked away as much as his hand wrapped around her throat, allowed her to. Even to a complete stranger, it was embarrassing to admit where her husband most likely was. Even to a complete stranger who had broken into her apartments with the intention of forcing her husband’s location out of her, it was embarrassing to admit that she was being cuckolded. So, she gave a hard swallow, and he felt the bob of her throat against his palm. The feeling caused a shiver to rack up his spine. He ignored it.

 

“He’s . . . he’s indisposed at the moment. In a meeting with the Empress, I think. I don’t know when he’ll be back.” The man chuckled in her ear.

           

“A wife whose husband spurns her for the bed of the very Empress she adores and calls friend . . . that’s a shame. You’re quite beautiful, you know – I’d even go so far as to say gorgeous. You’re much prettier than the Empress, anyway, I’d even dare to say. In fact . . . I know quite a many men who would be glad to catch your eye. I know even more who would think him an idiot and their gain.”

           

Venetica struggled out a caustic laugh. “Yes, well, I would thank you, but I don’t think these are the appropriate circumstances for such pleasantries, don’t you?” The man gave another laugh as he released her. Gently pushing her away from him, she took a few stumbling steps forward before managing to right herself, her hand flying upwards to massage her throat, as she did so. Spinning around on her heels, her eyes fell onto a tall, muscular man wearing a blood red coat and a whaler’s mask. Her heart gave another trill of fear, as well as something else. This was the man, wasn’t it? It _had_ to be!

           

“If you’re feeling bitter and raw about it, and you want to get back at him, well . . .” He chuckled and held his arms out. She could only imagine the cocky smirk playing out across his features, and suddenly had the intense desire to see what he looked like underneath that intimidating mask of his – to see if he was _truly_ the man she thought he was. “I’m here, at least, if you want to get even by committing a little heretical adultery yourself.”

           

She swallowed hard and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I don’t think so. And besides . . . I don’t even know what you look like. You could be all kinds of disfigured underneath that mask, and I wouldn’t even know it!”

           

There was a moment’s hesitation before the masked man reached up and slowly brought down the object that gave him his anonymity. She felt herself recoil slightly upon sight of his face, her eyes widening slightly as her heart pounded in her chest. The man who held her gaze with deep, chocolate brown eyes, possessed dark brown hair pomaded back against his head, a hooked nose, aquiline features, and a strong, square jaw. The nasty scar which ran down the left side of his face from his hairline, bisected his eye, and then ended at the corner of his mouth, made her surprised it had not robbed him of said eye. This scar, was what kept her from calling him conventionally handsome. However, there was an air about him that still managed to change things, all the same. The air he carried suggested someone who had married himself to danger and volatility. It was alluring and vaguely attractive – possibly even bordering on sexy.

           

Her heart gave a jump, too, at the sight of him. This was him. She _knew_ it was!

           

For a moment, she thought about taking him up on his offer, but decided against it. She wasn’t that type of girl, despite the actions that Corvo committed, and despite the prominence this man had in both her dreams, and in her thoughts. She shook her head and changed the subject. “Who . . . who are you?” She asked, genuine curiosity in her voice, and he shook his head. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were cold and hard – the eyes of a murderer.

           

“I’m already trusting you enough to show you my face – and against my better instincts, sweetheart. Don’t make me tell you my name, too. In this world, names have power, especially to one who’s so close to the Lord Protector and the Empress, as you are.” Venetica released a bitter scoff as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She looked away, not unable to meet his eyes for a moment. Once again, she felt mortified to admit such things to a complete and total stranger, but all the same, she felt compelled to -- like there was something about him that instigated instant trust.

           

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not as close to Corvo as people think I am. After all . . . he _is_ forsaking my bed for another woman’s, is he not?”

           

The Man gave her a small, almost amused smile. “The offer still stands if you’re interested -- I’ve got time. Hell . . . for you, sweetheart, I’d _make_ the time!”

           

Despite the implications behind them, his words nevertheless flattered her. Briefly, Venetica found herself entertaining the idea of allowing this completely strange, unknown man, to take her to bed – to the very same bed that was technically Corvo’s, but which he barely used anymore since the miscarriage. She imagined what this man with the murderer’s eyes and the blood-stained hands, would be like as a lover – if he matched her dreams and thoughts. Would he be rough and inconsiderate? Or would he be gentle and devoted to her pleasure? Did he dominate or was he submissive? Did he fuck or did he make love? Was it based on the woman and how he felt for her, or did it not matter? There were too many questions flitting through her head, and not enough courage in her heart for her to ask them.

           

He seemed to read her thoughts, though. He chuckled and smirked as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. He glanced down at the marble floor underneath their feet for a moment before returning them to hers. “I can be whatever you want me to be, sweetheart. You want me to take you like a bitch while pulling your hair, I can. But on the same token, if you’re after a skilled lover that can attend to your needs, as well as my own – if you want to be _indulged_ – _worshipped . . ._ then I can make you come with my tongue, as well as my cock.”

           

Venetica felt her face and throat enflame with blush, which made his smirk broaden into damn near a grin. Was it that obvious she was inexperienced? Of course, she _wouldn’t_ be if Corvo didn’t visit the Empress as much as he did, but that couldn’t be helped, now could it? A miscarriage of her caliber, _couldn’t_ have been helped – Sokolov had assured her of such a thing! And as a result – the dissolution of whatever affection and respect there had been between her and Corvo, could _not_ have been helped, no matter how she felt to the contrary.

 

It wasn’t her fault Corvo had practically turned to avoiding their rooms like it contained the rat plague!

 

The Man shaking his head in slight wonderment while his grin disappeared, was what brought her back into reality. The expression on his face as he gazed at her, caused an immediate bolt of warmth to spear straight down into her core. When had a man ever looked at her like that, before?

 

“Now would you look at that . . .? By the Outsider, sweetheart, you are _twice_ as beautiful when you blush compared to when you don’t!”

           

She couldn’t help but allow his words to flatter her, and with much more effort than she thought she would have needed, she eventually shook her head. “No . . . no, I’m fine. Thank you, though, for the offer, as well as for the compliment. They were both . . . sweet, in their own way. I . . . I think I needed them, too.” She told him, and he nodded. His eyes were softer than they had been, and the sight of that softness made her heart rate speed up again. There was something about this man . . . she couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about him drew her to him the same way it had through the crowd so long ago – something that she had never felt with Corvo or any other man she had ever come into contact with. Something about him made her heart race, and her throat constrict, and a dull throb to appear and settle in her lower stomach. Was it the air of violence that drew her to him – the fact that this man was all sorts of dangerous, and not to be trifled with? Was it because he was older – worldlier – than her still young self? She didn’t know, but she wanted _so_ _much_ to find out!

 

She would gladly cross over into the shadows of life, if she had this man leading her by the hand!

           

Him chuckling, was what brought her down from her thoughts, however. “Of course!” He respectfully inclined his head to her, then. “Forgive me for being so assertive and assuming. Why would falling into bed with an old man like me, possibly interest a beautiful young lass like you, especially when she has the handsome Lord Protector as her husband, to warm it?”

           

She knew his words were baited ever-so-slightly. And for a moment, she was tempted to take the bait -- to tell him that only a young lass who was as neglected by her so-called ‘husband’ as she was, would be interested in going to bed with a much more experienced older man like him. She wanted to tell him that _never_ \-- in her _entire_ life -- had she been indulged and worshipped by any man in bed, _including_ her husband, and just the mere _thought_ that he had offered to do so, tempted her more than anything else ever had. But she didn’t, and she kind of regretted not taking it when she had the chance.

           

“What do you want with Corvo?” She asked, changing the subject, and he gazed at her for a moment before answering her, his voice quiet.

           

“It doesn’t matter now. I was hoping for an audience without actually having to use the front door. I’m not exactly welcome in most parts of Dunwall. Apparently, though, I’ve missed him, so I’ll be taking my leave now. Apologies for disturbing and frightening you.” He placed his mask back into place before moving for the door. She stood there, watching his every move. He paused, though, with his hand on the doorknob. He turned around to face her. “The offer _still_ stands, though, sweetheart. If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need anything, then feel free to get in touch with me.”

           

She gave him a small smile. “Now, how would I possibly go about doing that if I don’t even know your name?” She asked, and she could hear the smile he had on his face, through his voice.

           

“I’m known as the Knife of Dunwall. Whisper that name in the shadows of the city, and you can easily find me,” He stayed silent for a moment, presumably ruminating on whether or not he wanted to add anything further. “When you do find me, you’ll learn my real name, then. I give you my word because then you’ll have earned it.”

           

She sent him an interested look. “You say that as if you _know_ I will find you.” She told him, and he chuckled.

           

“Oh, you will. You thought too long on my proposal of sex, to not eventually change your mind and find me,” He gave a laugh. “That _curiosity_ of yours, will be what finds me, sweetheart. And I cannot wait.”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, been kinda busy with life. Hope this makes up for it -- the next chapter will hopefully be a little bit jucier than this filler chapter. 
> 
> By the way, I do not own the "Excerpt of an Overseer's Field Report". That actually belongs to the game, which you find if you download a certain DLC. I used it, though, for the sake of furthering the story. 
> 
> Anyway! Onwards to the good stuff!

 

 

“Ah, if it isn’t the Lady Attano! What brings you to the Abbey on this fine day?”

 

Venetica turned upon the voice reaching her ears, and smiled politely when she caught sight of Overseer Teague Martin making a casual way over to her. Arms crossed in front of his broad chest, there was a curious twinkle in his eyes as he crossed the distance between them. Reflexively, she held out her hand to him, and he bent over it and brushed his lips across the back of it.

 

“Good afternoon, Teague. I am well, thank you for asking.” She spoke, and Martin’s brow rose as he straightened.

 

“Forgive me for not asking. Nevertheless, my question remains.”

 

She continued to smile. “I was actually hoping I could gain access to the Archives.”

 

Martin’s eyebrows rose politely. “The Archives? Whatever for?”

 

Venetica’s smile turned sweet and pretty. “I want to research someone. And I heard from a little birdie, that the only place who had information on this certain someone, was the Abbey. So here I am.”

 

“Really? And who would that be?”

           

He was playing with her, and she knew it. Still smiling, she took a step closer to him, and then another, and another, until she had successfully closed the remaining distance between them. She knew Martin well – knew about his inherent flirtatiousness. When he smiled, so did she.

 

“Well, why don’t you come with me and find out? I could do with an escort.” She spoke, and one of Martin’s brows arched higher still before he gave a slow nod.

 

“Lucky for you, I think I can spare an hour or two.” He spoke, and she shook her head.

 

“Won’t even be that much!”

 

Still smiling, he gave her his arm, which she took, and allowed him to lead her down the richly carpeted corridors to the Abbey of the Everyman’s legendary Archives. It was a while before either of them spoke, and when the silence was eventually broken, it was by Martin, which didn’t surprise her. “It’s been a long time, Venetica. Remind me exactly how long, again?”

 

Venetica stayed silent for a moment. When she answered him, her voice was quiet, and a little hard. “Three years.”

 

Martin gave another slow nod. “Your married now too, am I correct? To Corvo Attano – the Royal Protector? Who set up _that_ match?”

 

She didn’t know if he was still playing her, or if he was genuinely curious. At this point, Teague Martin was fully capable of both. “Jessamine.”

 

He nodded. “Ah. Makes sense. Should have figured.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you’re just positively overjoyed you dodged that bullet, right?” Venetica spoke before she could stop herself, and, briefly, Martin’s step faltered. His posture beside her, was stiffer than before, as well.

 

“Venetica, you know --”

 

“Was it the rumors, Teague, that ruined us?” She asked, a note of curiosity in her tone. “‘Teague Martin, the one man who laughs in the face of the Outsider, is to marry sweet little Venetica Galvani? However is _that_ match supposed to work?’” She shook her head and released a bitter laugh. “I fell in love with the name ‘Venetica Martin’, Teague. Utterly, and blissfully in love with it.”

 

“Does ‘Venetica Attano’ fall so lovingly from your lips?” Martin immediately asked, his tone more clipped than he had expected. Venetica stayed silent for a moment, and when she eventually spoke, it was with a shake of her head and a small smile.

 

“No. Nor would Corvo want it to.”

 

The look he pinned her with was one of wide-eyed surprise at her words. Before he could speak, though, they had reached the double doors of the Archives and Venetica hurriedly darted inside. Martin was quick to follow her, his eyes deftly scanning every inch for Overseers that might disturb them.

 

“Who are you looking for?” He asked as she began wandering up and down the rows, brows furrowed, lips silently moving as she repeated to herself the words embossed in gold on the spines of the books. She ignored him, causing him to smile in amusement, and after a moment, seemed to come to the book she was seeking. Pulling it down from the shelf, she flipped it open, only to scowl and replace it none-too-kindly from where she had gotten it moments later.

 

“Not there?” Martin asked with a wry smile, and she shook her head as she quickly pushed past him.

 

“No . . . sent me somewhere else . . .” She told him in a mutter, and Martin nodded as he turned and watched her search quickly through the catalogue of Names tucked against the far wall. Quickly finding the one she desired, she gripped the card close to her chest as she closed the draw labeled “D-G”. Turning, she moved up the stairs to one of the lower bookcases, and Martin followed her, brows furrowing and lips falling into a frown when he realized what catalogue she had been searching through. That was the catalog of criminal names that the Abbey was currently in the process of looking for, not one of the ones they possessed of every living citizen of the Empire.

 

What was she doing?

 

“Venetica, what are you --?”

 

“ _Shh_!” She interrupted him, her face a mask of concentration as she searched diligently for the book she had been directed towards. “It said it was around here – aha! Here it is!”

 

Yanking the book from it’s place, she carried it over to one of the nearby desks where she plopped it down. Flipping it open, she quickly scanned the index to find the correct page number. When she found it, she flipped to it, causing Martin’s eyes to widen again.

 

Written in a scrawling black hand at the top of page was thusly:

_Rumors and Sightings: Daud (excerpt from an Overseer’s field report):_

           

Martin shook his head. “Venetica, what the hell do you --?”

 

“ _Shh_ , Martin! Let me read!” She interrupted him again, a scowl on her face, and Martin heaved a sigh as she bent over the book, her eyes quickly scanning the words on the page:

 

  _For over a year now, I have lived away from the Abbey, without the company of my Overseer brethren or the guidance of the blind sisters of the Oracular Order. Days have passed with me sleeping in the dens of cut-purses, murderers and worse, and the nights have seen me prowling through the worst alleys and wretched corners of Dunwall. I have taken my meals with killers. At times I have ventured beyond the city walls, meeting in forgotten graveyards and the outlying ruins frequented by those of ill means._

_My beard has grown long and I wear the weathered clothing and bits of boiled leather favored by the Bottle Street and Hatter gangs, and by those rough men and women who make their trade knifing others in return for coin. My hands have run red with blood, it's true, but I have selected my targets with care, choosing among those criminals and heretics who were not fit to live, executing them justly and using their deaths as a means of building my reputation. So far this trick has allowed me to make my name among my murderous colleagues, without taking the lives of the innocent._

_My goal is singular: I must impress the assassin named Daud in order to get close to him._

_Of all of the practitioners of black magic we have tracked, none concern the Abbey as much as Daud. It is said that his mother was a witch from one of the archipelagos off the Pandyssian coast, taken captive by pirates venturing far from the Isles. According to legend, by the time the ship returned, the captain was dead and the witch controlled the crew, with Daud still a shadow in her belly._

_The earliest stories tell of a gang-killer without mercy, moving among the shop keepers and City Watch officers of Dunwall like a reaper through wheat. Then a period of silence followed; years we now believe he spent traveling the Isles, studying anatomy and the occult in the great halls of learning and in hidden basements frequented by fellow dabblers in the forbidden arts. Daud is even purported to have spent a winter in the Academy of Natural Philosophy itself. And for a time, before a schism developed, he counted the Brigmore Witches among his allies. All the while, he honed his craft, and it is during this time that we believe he began to consort with the Outsider._

_New reports emerged of a dusky-skinned assassin, paid by the elite to eliminate their rivals in Dunwall and in the other major cities across the Isles. Those who saw him and lived numbered in the handful, but all of them reported something strange. He appeared and vanished like smoke. From a nearby rooftop, he gestured and a noble woman stumbled from her balcony, falling to her doom on the cobblestones below. Most recently, as this new threat of plague has risen in Dunwall, Daud has been seen leading a gang of men in dark leather, dressed as factory whalers in their vapor masks. They seem loyal beyond comprehension for one so unworthy, leading me to wonder if some of his magic is dedicated to lulling their minds, enslaving them._

_Only a month ago, one young girl claims to have come upon a strange scene. Carrying a bottle of milk home to her crippled brother, she was taking a shortcut through the Tailors' District. In a narrow street, she passed beneath a window and heard unusual sounds from within. Pushing aside the ratty curtain, the girl saw into an abandoned apartment, used by miscreants for gambling and trading habber weed. An occult shrine had been erected against the far wall, which she recognized from the teachings given by her local Overseer. A man she described as resembling Daud was kneeling before the shrine muttering to an unseen spirit as if in argument. He took a carving, made of pale bone, from the altar before him and the lights all went out in a gush of unclean wind. Quiet as a field mouse, she slipped away, running until she reached her home._

_There can be no doubt. Daud is an agent of the Outsider and must die, for there is no limit to the evil this man might do. This is my solemn oath and the great purpose of my life. Until Daud is a dead and his corruption has been purged from the world, I will continue to move among the depraved, winding my way toward him. I will not drop my guise or don my Overseer's mask again until Daud breathes no more._

When she was done, she straightened up, tucking her hair behind her ears as she did so. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear like a normal person would be after reading such a thing, but of wonder and, dare Martin say . . . _excitement_? It was at this look in her eyes, that he pounced.

 

“Venetica, why in the Hell did you want to know about Daud?” He asked, his voice lowering dramatically, almost as if he was afraid they could be overheard in an empty room. Venetica turned her wide eyes onto him and shook her head.

 

“I don’t --”

 

“Venetica, this man is _dangerous_!” Martin interrupted her as he pointed at the page she had just been reading. “He consorts with the Outsider, he --”

 

“So says the man who used to brag about laughing in the _face_ of the Outsider.” She spoke, quietly, brow arching slightly, and Martin replied by pursing his lips.

 

“‘Earliest stories tell of a gang-killer without mercy, moving among the shop keepers and City Watch officers of Dunwall like a reaper through wheat.’” He recited, almost from memory, before shaking his head. “And this report doesn’t even tell the half of it! Daud is _the_ most dangerous man in Dunwall – Venetica, he’s the veritable _boogeyman_! Nobles live in fear of him – that one day, they will do something to cause his shadow to darken their door! He’s never been captured, never been _caught_! He’s murdered women as well as children – _nothing_ is sacred to him . . .!” He shook his head. “He is one of the Outsider’s most faithful – a being of unspeakable dark power. Venetica, why would you possibly want to seek him out?”

 

Venetica stood there in silence for a moment, staring down at the words written on the page, at a temporary loss for words. She very well couldn’t tell Martin the reason why: that her eyes had met his through the crowd of her wedding procession and something seemed to . . . _click_ into place. That she had never felt more alive when he had been standing there in her room, beautiful blue eyes glittering at her with a smirk on his face. The way he looked at her . . . a cold-blooded murderer couldn’t look at someone like that, right – like he was seeing the most beautiful thing in the world? They didn’t have the humanity for that, did it?

 

Or was Daud just that different?

 

Eventually, Venetica shook her head and cast her eyes down to the carpeted floor. “There’s no reason in particular, Teague, that I’ve been interested about him. There were simply a few rumors at court that caught my attention and snagged my curiosity.”

 

“Rumors? What rumors?” Martin asked, his voice tense. Of course, it shouldn’t surprise her, his tone. Of course he Overseers would never want a man like Daud gaining a foothold in the royal court – using his power and influence to steadily crumble their ironclad hold on the throne. But, then again, Venetica had merely been lying to mask her true reason for coming here today, so she pinned him with a weak, apologetic smile and a shrug.

 

“I don’t rightly remember Teague, I’m sorry. But whatever it was, interested me enough to learn more of this man. He is certainly a very interesting one . . .” She trailed off and ran her fingers along the black scrawled words before quickly and suddenly shutting the book. Smiling stiffly, she picked it up and returned it to it’s spot before getting to her feet and turning to him. “Thank you for being my escort today, Teague, it was --”

 

“Overseer Martin! Did you not have important business to complete this day?”

 

Martin froze and Venetica’s eyes widened, as the booming, imperious sounding voice split through the air of the Archives. Turning to face the doorway, their eyes settled on the red coat first, before quickly moving up to the face of High Overseer Hiram Burrows. His eyes widened too, as he took in Venetica standing there before him, and he hastened a bow.

 

“Lady Attano! I don’t . . . forgive me, but I was unaware of your visit this afternoon! If I had been made aware, I would have --”

 

“Think nothing of it, High Overseer – it was my error, not yours,” Venetica spoke as she moved down the stairs towards him, Martin slow but tight on her heels. “I found myself in need of dire council, and Overseer Martin was kind enough to hear me out. We’re old friends, you see, so it worked out quite nicely, running into him.”

 

The High Overseer gave a slow nod as his eyes remained glued to hers. She held his gaze, though, that same pretty smile on her face that she had earlier pinned to Martin, and eventually, Burrows heaved a sigh. “Well, nevertheless, forgive me for not providing a proper escort for a Lady of your station, Lady Attano. Shall you be needing one on your trip back to the palace?” He asked, and Venetica shook her head.

 

“Oh, no, no, that won’t be necessary, High Overseer, but I thank you. I have guards waiting me by the gates – they shall escort me to my tram,” Turning back to Martin, she gave him a slightly more cheerful smile. It was a smile that he knew was largely for Burrows’ benefit. “Would you do me the honor of escorting me back to the gate, though, Martin? Now that my doubts have been assuaged and my conscience soothed, we have much catching up to do, don’t you think?” She asked, and after sparing Burrows a glance, he gave a tight smile and a nod.

 

“Of course, Lady Attano. You shall have to tell me how your father’s doing. What has Master Galvani been up to?” Offering her his arm, she was quick to take ahold of it. The High Overseer stepped out of the way, allowing them to pass, but Venetica felt his eyes boring holes into her back the entirety of their way down the hall.

 

When they were a sufficient distance away that Martin was sure they wouldn’t be overheard, he released a breath of relief. “By the Outsider, that was close!” He muttered before pinning her with a look. “Good cover, though. However, I don’t think your conscience is as assuaged as you’d like him to think it is.” He told her, and she smiled.

 

“Quite the contrary, it is, Teague. I have not a worry in the world right now.”

 

Martin gazed at her expressionlessly for a moment before speaking, his tone slow and slightly apprehensive. “Just . . . whatever it is you want with him, be _careful_ , Venetica. I wasn’t lying when I said the man was dangerous, and don’t for one second think he doesn’t have enemies! He does – _many_. The Abbey is simply the forefront of that group.”

 

Venetica smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Teague. But you don’t have to worry. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

 

Martin heaved a sigh and shook his head. “You’ve garnered the attentions of the Knife of Dunwall, Venetica, or, at least, you’re _wanting_ to. That kind of playing with fire is never good. It is also well-known for leaving the most terrible of burns.”

 


	8. Chapter Eight

* * *

 

Venetica knew she shouldn’t be outside the palace walls at night – knew Corvo would freak, and that _Jessamine_ would freak – but she had to. She _had_ to see him again – to be near him again. Something drew her to Daud in a primal, complex way that she couldn’t even _begin_ to fathom. It was something wholly different than what she had felt with Corvo (if she had felt anything at all, that was). She had to see him again, if only to know that feeling wasn’t just a onetime thing.

           

So here she found herself, a little ways outside of the high, protective walls of the palace, in a shadowy, ominous looking alleyway, nervously wringing her hands and wondering if it was such a good idea after all.

           

Of course, it wasn’t. But like Emily always said: all the good ideas were really bad ones in disguise.

           

She stood there, summoning up her courage for a moment, before calling out: “The Knife of Dunwall! Wherever he is, even if he is near, I must see him! I . . . I humbly request an audience!”

           

There was absolute stillness and silence for a moment, until, out of the corner of her eye, a shadow seemed to move. Slowly, it melted along the stone walls before materializing in front of her. The figure was clad in black leather and one of those unsettling Whaler masks that Daud’s men had taken to wearing, masked his features. His voice when he spoke was deep, and muffled, and guttural. The sight of him sent fearful shivers running up and down her spine, and she supposed _that_ was what made them so effective. They were assassins, not mummers or clowns. They were meant to frighten and unsettle, not put people at ease and make them laugh.

           

“What is your business with the Knife of Dunwall?” He asked, and Venetica stood there wordlessly for a moment before shaking her head bewilderingly.

           

“I-I don’t --”

           

The man shook his head, and underneath the mask, she could only envision the scowl that was there. “You called for an audience with the Knife of Dunwall. It is my job to ask why you have requested that audience.”

           

“He told me --”

           

“Brecken, stand down. Daud has been expecting her.”

           

The Whaler’s gaze shot onto the figure who had so recently joined them. Pulling off his mask, Venetica released a sigh of relief when she saw it was Thomas standing there. The Whaler’s head rose, almost indignantly.

           

“I have orders --!”

           

“Daud knows you do, and thanks you for upholding them so diligently. But this Lady here is expected by our Master, and under his protection.” Thomas spoke, his tone silky and brooking no argument. His blue eyes, normally so mirthful and happy, were cold and calculating as he bored them into the Whaler. “So, on that note, you are dismissed. Go uphold your duties elsewhere. You are no longer required in this sector.”

           

There was silence for a moment. Then the Whaler spoke, his voice testy. “You are not Billy. Where do you get the gall to --?”

           

“I speak for Daud, because he allows me to. Because he trusts me,” Thomas interrupted him, his tone bordering on anger now. “Because he has entrusted me and me alone, to escort this Lady to his side. And if she doesn’t, then I will be sure to tell our Master whose fault that is. And I don’t think I _need_ to tell you what happens to those who suffer the wrath of the infamous Knife of Dunwall.”

           

The Whaler stood there, looking like he was going to object further, but then obviously thought better of it. He performed a stiff bow before melting back into the shadows behind him, leaving Thomas and Venetica alone together. Turning to her, he smiled, the mirth and good humor back in his eyes as he moved to greet her. “Lady Venetica, how lovely it is to make your acquaintance again! How are you?”

           

Venetica smiled as he bent over her hand. “I  . . . I am well, Thomas. You?”

           

Thomas gave a nod as he straightened his posture. “I am well, thank you for asking. And I trust you found everything you needed to know about Daud at the Abbey of the Everyman this afternoon?” He asked, his eyes flickering conspiratorially, and Venetica’s eyes widened, stricken.

           

"You know --?”

           

“About that? Oh my, yes!” Thomas spoke with a laugh. “Did you not hear me? You are under Daud’s protection – quite a formidable thing to claim! In fact, _I’d_ wager that you could take a nice little stroll through not _only_ Slackjaw’s territory, but Hatter and Lizzie Stride’s, as well, and emerge completely unscathed! _That_ kind of protection, isn’t offered to just anyone, let me tell you, and you can't buy it, either! It only comes from the most powerful man in the Empire, and if you think that man resides in the court, then you’d be sadly mistaken! Nothing goes on in Dunwall without Daud knowing about it, as well as without his permission,” He smiled. “One of my brothers and sisters have been following you since your last encounter with Daud – for your own safety, of course! And before you ask, no, he is not angry with you for inquiring about him. Quite the contrary, he is impressed. Any person with half a brain in their head, would have done the same, upon hearing: “The Knife of Dunwall”. Many more wouldn’t have done it out of sheer fright at what they might find, and put his invitation from their mind!”

           

Venetica swallowed hard. “I . . . I confess that I am afraid.” She spoke, and Thomas nodded, his eyes growing soft.

           

“Daud knows. Which is why he sent me. You’re more familiar with me than with any of the others. He thought you would be more comfortable with me. He also . . . he also thanks you for your trust in him. He hopes it will not be misplaced.” His smile turned slightly apologetic then as he reached into his sleeve and withdrew a black silken clothe. “I also must beg my humblest apologies for this, Lady Venetica, but I am required to blindfold you. It is for the safety of Daud, as well as my brothers, sisters, and I, and even _you_ that you not know where the Whalers reside.”

           

Venetica swallowed hard to get past the lump that had suddenly built up in her throat. After a moment, she gave a stiff nod. “O-of course. Completely understandable!” She told him, and his smile widened somewhat as he stepped behind her.

           

“You, of course, have my word that I will not accidentally Blink ourselves into a colony of river krusts! Poor Robin did that yesterday, and his corpse was so mangled, we almost couldn’t get anything back to his wife!” Venetica gave a nervous little laugh at this as her vision was suddenly filled with blackness. She felt the silkiness of the scarf against her flesh as he gently but firmly tied it into place. “Not-to-mention, Daud would be _more_ than angry, and no one wants that!”

           

She felt him step away when he was done, and move to face her again. “Are you ready?”

           

She nodded. “As . . . ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” She spoke with a laugh, and could only imagine the smile on Thomas’ face as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. For a moment, she was reminded of when they had danced at Jessamine’s birthday party. How much fun that had been – not a worry in the world had darkened her night! She wondered if she could ever feel like that again . . . if maybe _Daud_ , was who could make her feel that way again?

           

“This might be a little uncomfortable, Lady Venetica, but I promise you – the journey will not take long.”

           

She nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly found herself coming to an abrupt stop. There was the curious, stifling feeling of her body being tightly compressed through something resembling one of those pneumatic tubes the Abbey and some rooms of the Palace, utilized. There was the feeling of being weightless – of moving as fast as light through the air – and her stomach violently leaving her where she knew she had been just seconds earlier. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, and her lungs and mind screamed out in protest, before she suddenly . . . could. Gasping for breath, she fell out of Thomas’ grip, only to be immediately steadied by a pair of strong arms wrapping around her and a deep voice telling her to calm down and breathe – that it was all over now.

           

“By the Outsider, Thomas, did you not give her any warning?”

           

“Sorry Daud, must have escaped my mind. I did apologize beforehand, though, if that’s what you mean.”

           

Thomas’ voice was surprisingly cheerful as he replied to Daud’s question. There was a sound of caustic laughter. “I wouldn’t even have given her _that_ much! She shouldn’t be here, Daud! No one outside the Whaler’s should --”

           

“Quiet, Billy! If I had wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it, now wouldn’t I? Now leave us.”

           

There was a heavily pregnant silence before the echoing of irritated bootfalls on the wooden floor beneath their feet, could be heard. There was the swinging open of a set of double doors before they were slammed shut with a little more heated vigor than was needed.

           

“Outsider’s eyes, what bit her in the ass today?” Thomas asked, his voice dripping with amusement, and Daud answered him, his voice exasperated.

           

“It’s Bill, so who knows?”

           

Venetica released a laugh once she had sufficiently caught her breath enough to do so. “Can I remove my blindfold now?” She asked, and immediately Thomas jumped forward to do so. The clothe fell away from her eyes, and she immediately looked around her. She was in a double floored space, slightly decrepit but possessing a haunting beauty that was quite endearing. A flight of curving stairs led up to what she figured would be bedroom, of sorts, as well as a balcony, while the lower floor they were currently on, held a couple of desks, a wall of filing cabinets, and a board pinned with Wanted Posters and other assorted documents. It took her a moment to realize that she _must_ be in Daud’s quarters.

           

It took her an even longer moment to realize that the man currently steadying her in his arms, was Daud himself.

           

Her face burned scarlet as she hastily tore her gaze away from his. “Oh! Forgive me, I didn’t --”

           

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. It was Thomas’ fault, not warning you like he should have . . .!” Daud spoke, the growl in his tone aimed primarily towards the young man standing behind them, before changing the subject. “How was it otherwise?”

           

“We weren’t followed, if that’s what you mean – I made sure of it. Brecken gave us a little trouble, though, in the beginning, when I went to collect her,” Thomas immediately spoke up, his voice once again all business instead of mirthful. “Questioned my orders. Asked why I wasn’t Billy and why you had given _me_ permission to do this, instead of her.”

           

Daud gave a thoughtful hum as he helped Venetica straighten herself on her own two feet a little more. Her hands clutched at his arms as she tried desperately not to lose her stomach now that it had returned to her from across the other side of Dunwall. “Interesting . . . I’ll have to talk with him.”

           

Thomas shook his head. “Apologies, Daud, but I _cannot_ be the only one who has noticed the way she --”

           

“You aren’t, I promise,” Daud interrupted him, his voice firm. “I’ve been seeing it, too, and in larger and larger numbers. It's starting to . . . _unnerve_ me, somewhat. But now is not the time. We have a guest, Thomas. An _honored_ guest.”

           

Thomas nodded his head, his good humor returning. “Of course! Shall I have some of the others arrange for a demonstration?”

           

Daud nodded. “Yes, but tell them I simply want to sit in on their training – see how they’re coming along. Which I _do_. I’ll simply have someone with me this time.”

           

Thomas gave a nod before he turned and headed through the glass French doors that Billy had so recently left through, leaving Daud and Venetica alone together for only the second time. She took a moment longer to calm her roiling stomach before speaking: “What was . . . _how_ did we get here?”

           

“The Whalers call it “Blinking”, and the name’s kind of . . . self-explanatory,” He was silent for a moment before he continued, his tone slightly awed. “You came, though. I didn’t think you would . . .”

           

She gave a slight laugh. “Why? Thought Corvo would find out and stop me?”

           

He was silent for a moment, face impassive as he gazed down at her. After a moment, he smiled, gave a laugh, and looked away. “When my men first told me what you had been doing at the Abbey this afternoon, I was surprised. Surprised that you had the gall to research me at the very institute that knows the most about me outside of my own – however false their knowledge may be. But then I felt . . . _uneasy_. I thought to myself: “However false the Abbey’s knowledge about you may be, _Venetica_ doesn’t know that. What if she reads all their lies about you and then runs away in terror like a sane person? Hides behind Corvo and her Empress’ skirts?”

           

“ _Were_ they all lies?” She asked, quietly, as one of her brows quirked in interest, and his smile grew slightly bigger.

           

“I am a murderer, Venetica. I kill people for money, and I do not discriminate, although, in my old age, I _have_ adopted the rule of no children, at least. Because I know that women can be just as evil and twisted as their male counterparts. Children, though . . .” He trailed off in silence for a moment before shaking his head. “It took me a long time to realize that in children there remains a glimmer of hope – of goodness – that is wrong to snuff out before they have a chance to prove themselves. And rarely, are they as evil and twisted as adults. So I have gained _some_ morals, you could say.”

           

“But you don’t move like a reaper through wheat?” She asked, and Daud laughed and shook his head.

           

“One of my favorite embellishments. But no, Venetica, I do not. I may be a murderer, but I am not a _serial_ murderer. Being an assassin and a psychopath are two completely different things. Namely, the thing that serves as the primary motivator. Do not be fooled completely by my words, though. You will find both of those kinds prevalently in my Whalers.”

           

Venetica nodded as she finally felt her stomach return to order. Slowly straightening herself, she glanced up at him. “Well whatever that was, I think I have recovered from it . . . somewhat . . .” She spoke, and he nodded, his eyes soft as he gazed down at her. Her heart gave a leap at that look, and once again, she found herself wondering if a man had ever gazed at her in such a way before.

           

“Good. I’m glad. Thomas shouldn’t have Blinked with you so suddenly.”

           

“Do not blame him.”

           

“Still. He should have --”

           

“He wanted to get me here quickly, Daud,” She gently interrupted him, and, much to her surprise, he remained quiet while she continued: “He was only following orders. You cannot fault him for that.”

           

Another silence stretched between them before Daud broke it again. “My name . . . I had wanted to be the one to tell you my name. I hadn’t wanted you to learn it from a _book,_ of all things.”

           

“I’m sorry.” She apologized, and he shook his head.

 

“Don’t be. I understand your desire to have . . . needed to know what you were possibly getting into. It’s just . . . it’s been a long time since I’ve told anyone outside of the Whalers, what my name was. Forgive me for . . . becoming excited.”

 

It was her turn to give a laugh. “What kind of life have you led, for such a simple thing as telling someone your name, to excite you so?”

 

Daud’s smile was weak. “A very lonely one.”

 

His words resonated in her more than she thought they would, and she smiled as she reached up and brushed a dust mote off the shoulder of his red coat. A smile threatened the corners of his mouth as his eyes shone with amusement. “Grooming me already?” He asked, and she gave a laugh.

 

“The Knife of Dunwall should look impeccable when he walks around his men, should he not?” She asked, and the tip of Daud’s tongue came out to trace his bottom lip as he offered her his arm. She took it, her hand sliding smoothly into the crook of his elbow.

 

“That is not a mask that I wear here often. And thank the Outsider for that!”

                                                                  

* * *

 

Thomas returned her later -- when the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon -- to a garden of the palace she hadn't expected him to drop her off at. She stood there for a moment, trying hard to will down the contents of her stomach again, as Thomas smiled and undid the blindfold he had tied around her eyes again. “You’ll get used to it, I promise.” He spoke, and she nodded.

 

“I sincerely hope I do!” She spoke before pausing for a moment. She continued when she was sure she wouldn’t expel her dinner. “Otherwise, how else would I see him?”

 

Thomas allowed a small smile to find a home on his face. “I’ll be here, at this same spot, tomorrow night. Daud feels it more appropriate, given the trouble we had earlier. He knows you’ll be safe with me, and that’s all that matters to him right now.”

 

“I suppose I should feel . . . _honored_ , that he puts so much emphasis on my safety?” She asked, more out of nervousness than anything. She had thought the previous night, had been a good one. The demonstration of the Whaler’s abilities had been awe-inspiring, and the dinner that followed, small and intimate. She felt completely safe and at home with him – this assassin who served as the most feared man in Dunwall. And he, in turn, was kind and gentle when he interacted with her – whenever his hand ghosted around the small of her back when he would move to guide her in certain directions. He was respectful when he spoke – his deep, slightly husky baritone absolutely captivating to her.

 

In a move that been completely bold and almost foreign to her, she had leaned over at dinner, and taken his hand in hers, just to know what it would feel like. The black Mark of the Outsider, glared at her from the smooth, olive-toned flesh of his hand, and he had froze for a moment, as if uncertain of how to react. But then he relaxed, and his hand had given hers a gentle squeeze, and all of a sudden, she found it quite hard to meet his gaze. Her heart was pounding much too hard in her chest, and she felt the keen desire to never leave his side.

 

It had been amazing. _He_ had been amazing.

 

There was silence for a moment as they continued to stand there in the palace garden, watching as the gardeners arrived to start their work. He had dropped her off much closer to the palace than she had previously thought safe enough, but she wouldn’t complain. She trusted that Thomas knew where was safe, and where wasn’t.

 

When Thomas finally spoke, his voice was pensive and thoughtful. “I haven’t seen Daud put as much emphasis on someone’s safety, in in a very long time, Lady Venetica. It is refreshing, to see him care about someone again.”

           

“You talk about him as if he was once unfeeling. A being made of stone.” She spoke, as she moved to sit on one of the nearby benches. There was another silence, this time for a little bit longer of a moment. Eventually, he moved to join her.

           

“The Knife of Dunwall” is a mask he is forced to wear, Lady Venetica – a mask he has been forced to wear for a very long time now. And for a while, that mask . . . it made him lose his way. It changed him until he was no longer Daud. He was everything everyone whispered that he was: a psychopath, a murderer, the Prophet of the Outsider . . . a boogeyman with fiery black eyes and a burning mark on the back of his hand. And I don’t know, maybe deep down inside him, there is a part of him that is all those things and more, but Daud – the Daud _I_ know – the Daud that _raised_ me from a boy . . . he isn’t any of those things. He’s simply a man, like all the others. A man who is now feeling for the first time in a very long time, and that is all thanks to you.” A heat appeared in her cheeks then, that had Thomas smiling again. “No pressure, right?”

           

She shook her head. “I hope . . . I hope I will never have to give him a reason to change his mind.”

           

“Daud is not a cruel man. He never has been. He’s been . . . _callused_ , at times, but never what I would call “cruel”. Don’t feel nervous around him, Lady Venetica. You mean more to him than you will ever know.”

           

“But I am married to another! What kind of future would we have?” She asked, much more frustrated than she had intended, however, she knew very much why. She felt more keenly than ever before, how stupid she had been. She should have listened to her father – to Corvo, when he had met with her in the garden that one afternoon. She should have turned Jessamine down, for she would have understood! She should have had the courage to do what she knew she should have done, and _now_ look where she was! She was stuck in a miserable marriage in which the two people in it positively _loathed_ each other, while the man she _wanted_ to be with, was doomed to become nothing more but an affair.

           

She looked away, feeling the harsh burn of tears in her eyes. Thomas took a gentle hold of her hand, his voice concerned when he spoke. “Hey, hey, hey, what are these? Why are you crying?”

           

She shook her head and told him what she was thinking. How she should have told Jessamine no, how she was now stuck in a marriage to a man she loathed while the man she felt so close to, was doomed to forever stand in the shadows. When she was done, Thomas was shaking his head.

           

“Daud has forever lived in the shadows, Lady Venetica – it is a curse for one who has walked down the path of life, he has. He will understand, perhaps, better than most, him needing to be there. And even if you weren’t married to Corvo, you are still a lady of the court. He would have insisted on your relationship remaining in the shadows, anyway – to save you the kind of condemnation you would have earned, had you been found out. And, I suppose, that kind of risk is still here, but . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “Life is too short, Lady Venetica, to live it unhappily. And if your marriage is an unhappy one, with a man you dislike, would he really condemn you for seeking and finding happiness elsewhere, even if he doesn’t know who with? After all, is he not doing the same with the Empress? And if Daud makes you as happy as I know you already make him . . . can you really find fault in yourself? Just be happy there _are_ ways for you to see him!” He gave a smile then. “Not all hope is lost. Not yet.”

           

She sat there for a moment, ruminating on his words. Eventually, her hand squeezed his, and she gave a laugh and a nod of her head. “Your right, Thomas. Your absolutely right.”

           

His smile remained as he returned the squeeze of her hand. “So I will meet you back here tonight? You will not stand my Master up? I don't think I could ever bear to see him heartbroken!”

           

Venetica gave another laugh, a flower of warmth blooming in her chest upon realizing that she would see Daud again that night. “Yes, Thomas, I will be here. You can count on it!”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda weird flow of time during this chapter. Parts 1 and 2 occur after part 3. Hope that clears up any possible confusion.
> 
> Also, sorry for the wait. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it :)

* * *

 

There came bootfalls on the staircase leading up to his bedroom. They paused at the top of the stairs, and he sensed hesitation. As if the person who had moved to join him – to intrude on the private moment he had managed to buy for himself before Venetica’s arrival – was unsure if they should be there. And really, if Daud was being completely honest, unless the person was Thomas or Venetica arrived early, he didn’t give a damn who they were, or why they were there to see him. He didn’t care to see them.

           

“What is it?”

           

Billie swallowed heavily at his caustic tone, and lay a shaking hand on the nearby balustrade. He was standing out on his balcony, watching as the sun inched ever closer to it’s descent over the horizon, probably deep in thought. She knew she should have known better than to interrupt him when he was up here, and not down below, but she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself, any longer. She needed to talk to him.

 

“I, um . . . I must have a word with you.” She spoke, and heard Daud heave a sigh full of something she couldn’t bear to dissect. Tipping his head back, he drained his tumbler of bourbon before turning around and moving to the nearby end table that held a crystal carafe of the stuff. He was shirtless, his dark brown hair damp and slicked back. He smelled fresh from the bath – of that spicy Tyvian soap he used, and that bergamot and chamomile smelling aftershave he was so fond of. Billie tried hard to keep her eyes from wandering over the broad plain of his chest – his muscular torso yet to feel the ravages of time and age. He still put many of the Whalers her age, to shame, she knew. She also knew that Venetica, was the reason for it.

 

The realization made her hate the woman even more.

 

“You want one?” He asked, gesturing to the carafe of bourbon. After a moment, she gave a slight nod. He was silent as he poured them each a tumbler before setting it down and capping it. Picking them up, he handed one off to her before taking a sip of his own. “What do you need to talk to me about?”

 

Billie was hesitant, and stalled for time by taking a sip from her own tumbler. It burned a fiery trail down her throat, and she fought the desire to wince at it. His bourbon was strong and cheap – a poor man’s drink. She knew it was similar to the type he drank growing up, and that was why he drank it – purely for sentimentality’s sake -- but still . . . with as much gold as she knew he had managed to squirrel away for himself over the years, he could at least up his choices in liquor.

 

When the fire was gone and she could speak again without an embarrassing rasp, she finally spoke: “I don’t . . . do you think it wise, bringing this girl here?”

 

Daud immediately bristled at the mention of Venetica, like she knew he would. When he replied, his tone was guarded – defensive. “Thomas blindfolds her and brings her straight here. I don’t see what the problem is.”

 

“All she has to do is look out a window --”

 

“And see a district flooded like half the others?” He interrupted her before shaking his head. “This isn’t _about_ where we are, is it, Billie? It’s about _why_ I’m bringing her here, isn’t it?”

 

Billie took another sip of the bourbon, and the fiery liquor seemed to give her strength to say the next thing to come to her lips. “I think you’re being foolish, Daud.”

 

Daud released a laugh, and Billie continued on, despite the hard set to his eyes and the hard grin that had lit up his face. “I think you’re allowing yourself to be captivated --”

 

“Of _being happy_!”

 

“– by a set of pretty doe eyes and a pretty smile!”

 

Daud’s caustic laughter then, cut through her, and the hard grin he had turned suddenly cruel. Daud did not like to call him a cruel man, and neither did his Whalers. But there were times . . . _there were_ times . . .

 

“Oh, I see what this is, Billie!” He spoke, his voice harder than stone and twice as cold. Shaking his head, he placed his tumbler of bourbon down on the nearby table before making a slow way over to her. His pace was fluid and slow – like a jungle cat stalking his prey – and the movement coupled with the hardness of his eyes and the rigidity of his jaw, made her suddenly quite nervous. “You hate her because she’s not _you_.” He spoke, his lip curling. “You’re _bitter_ , because she means to me what you never did!”

 

There were the ghosts of sharp, angry tears beading in her eyes at his words, and _oh_ , how she _hated_ them!

 

She hated how very fucking right he was.

 

Fiercely, she blinked back the tears, and turned her face away from him. She foolishly hoped he hadn’t seen them, but found herself sadly mistaken. He had. She could tell by the sneer that was on his face now that had taken the cruel grin’s place. He turned and moved back over to the table, where he picked up the tumbler of bourbon he had abandoned.

 

“Bitterness does not suit you, Billie, and neither does selfishly throwing a tantrum when you don’t get what you want. Grow up, girl. Admit you lost – even though there was really nothing ever there for you _to_ lose -- and move on. For the love of the Outsider,” He released a snort of laughter then as he drained his tumbler. “We only fucked once.”

 

For some reason, those words held twice as much venom and sting than anything else he could have said. They made her want to wrap her arms around herself and curl up into a ball and sob like a vulnerable teenager who had been taken advantage of by an older man. And really, if she was being honest, she _hadn’t_ been taken advantage of that night, and she knew it. She _had_ been overage, and Daud had warned her multiple times that absolutely nothing would come of them sleeping together. In fact, he seemed to finally agree to it as a way to . . . get her off his back? She shuddered and tossed that thought from her mind. No . . . she wouldn’t think that. She _couldn’t_ believe that what they had done, had been nothing more but a pity fuck he had tossed her way. Not that. _Anything_ but that.

 

He meant so much to her . . . _why_ could he not see that?

 

The sound of the doors opening below them, reverberated throughout the entire space, and for a minute, the look of utter happiness that shone on Daud’s face when they heard Venetica’s slightly nervous sounding voice accompanied by a much more mirthful Thomas’, made her heart almost split in two. What was it about this delicate, dainty little slip of a noblewoman that had ensnared Daud so? If she hadn’t actually sat down and thought about it, Billie would have thought witchcraft, but knew it wasn’t so. This wasn’t the Brigmore Witches doing, and she doubted there was another independent coven working within the walls of Dunwall. The Brigmore Witches would have done something about it.

 

So no, it was something worse. Something that made Billie’s skin crawl in horror. Daud didn’t want Billie, because he wanted everything Venetica was. He wanted dainty and delicate, not sturdy and strong. He wanted girlish laughter and fine silk, not stoic silences and roughspun clothing. He wanted flawless skin instead of sunburned, teeth as blindingly white as the moon, not those stained with tobacco juice and bitterleaf, and coffee and cheap liquor.

 

Daud wanted everything the antithesis of the Whalers. He wanted normal. He wanted what he otherwise couldn’t have.

 

Billie’s lips thinned into a line as Daud called over the railing that he would be down soon. Venetica managed to shoot him a fragile smile up at him and nodded before turning back to that ass-kissing Thomas, and as Daud moved to pull on a shirt and his jacket. As he did so, he spoke, his expression and voice hard again.

 

“You’re dismissed. I don’t want to see you again until tomorrow, understand?”

 

Billie nodded. Her tears were gone, replaced instead by a hardness that matched his own. If it was borne for any other situation or conversation, Daud almost would have been proud. “Understood, Daud. Have a good evening with your little . . .” She paused then, searching for the right word. Her lips thinned again. “ _Duchess_.”

 

Daud released a bark of a laugh at this, and turned around to face her, doing up the buttons of his shirt as he did so. One of his brows was arched in amusement. “We will. That, I can promise you.”

 

Shooting him a tight smile, she turned to leave, however, Daud’s voice, suddenly so hard again, called her back. She turned to face him, only to find him standing startlingly close to her. She gasped, her eyes growing wide, and instinctively took a couple steps away from him. His eyes were colder now than they had been previously – positively glacier – and seemed to freeze her to the spot.

 

“And by the way, a little piece of advice, if I may?” He asked, and she reflexively nodded, knowing it wise to not risk disagreeing with him. “If I hear any other whispering of insubordination within the ranks that lead back to you, then I don’t think I have to tell you how displeased I’ll be, correct? In fact . . . I don’t think I’ll be displeased, as much as _disappointed_. And you know what happens to people who disappoint me, right, Billie?” 

 

Billie had to swallow hard to get past the lump that had been forming steadily in her throat ever since she had turned around to find him standing right there on her heels. She nodded. “Y-Yes, Daud. I know what happens.”

 

“And what do you think happens, girl?”

 

Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest, and she swallowed hard again before gasping out: “They disappear.”

 

Daud’s lips curled upwards into a smile then as he backed up a few steps. “Exactly. They disappear. Take care to make sure you don’t either, eh, Billie? And, if it means anything, I never intended to bring it up. However, I figured with the conversation we just had, that it would be . . . _prudent_ , to? You understand, don’t you?”

 

Billie nodded, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides. “Yes . . . Daud . . .” She spoke, and Daud smiled and nodded towards the doors.

 

“You’re dismissed. And take care to remember what I said, okay?”

 

Billie nodded and immediately turned on her heels and started off down the stairs. She kept her eyes on the plush carpet in front of her lest she trip and fall, and only became aware when she was halfway down, that Daud had started descending the stairs after her. She didn’t have to turn around to see that look of happiness in his eyes, and that welcoming smile on his face.

 

She didn’t have to turn around to know that, that was a completely different Daud, than the one who had just threatened her.

                                                                      

* * *

 

Daud did not like to call himself a cruel man, especially when it involved his men, for they were, after all, the closest thing he had ever had to a family. But there was something about Billie lately that irritated him like nothing ever had before. And there was something about her that made her words enflame him.

 

He remembered as clear as day, the first time he came across her and Thomas, dirty little street urchins that they were, rooting around in the muck and filth of the Wrenhaven for scrap and other misplaced valuables. He recognized the spark in both required to succeed in his profession – the spark that he had possessed from a young age himself. He took them back to headquarters and trained them – made them into the skillful killers they were today. He molded them into the two people he knew he could trust most in this world.

 

He didn’t know what made him give the scarlet coat to Billie, just that he knew as the years went by, that it had been a mistake. Billie was loyal, yes, but in a completely different way than Thomas was. Thomas was loyal, the way a son was loyal to the man he called ‘father’. Billie was loyal, however-much you remained useful to her.

 

She would regret the day she looked at him and found him, of all men, “expendable”, if that was really what was happening.

 

And really, the more he thought about it . . . the more Daud realized that red had always looked better on Thomas, anyway.

                                                                        

* * *

 

 

“Venetica!”

 

“Venetica’s steps slowed to a stop, and she turned around to find Corvo making a quick pace to her. Her back straightened as her eyes quickly scanned his tall, lithe frame. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were stormy. They were standing in the middle of a main corridor of the palace – surely this wasn’t going to be a _scene_?

 

She shook her head, pushing the thought from her head. No . . . no, Corvo was not one for making scenes.

 

“Yes, Corvo? What is it?”

 

She silently begged for him to hurry. She was due to meet Thomas any minute now in the gardens – what if he grew tired of waiting for her and left without her? What if she stood Daud up – what would he _think --?_

 

“How have you been fairing lately?”

 

The simple, good-natured question took her by surprise. Her eyes widened, and she recoiled slightly before telling him that she was doing fine – that she _had_ been fine for quite a few days now. He gave a slow nod, his hands moving to clasp behind his back as they stood there together. He inclined his head to her. “I’m . . . apologies, for not having seen you in a while. I’m afraid I’ve neglected you.”

 

Where was this going? Venetica’s brows furrowed slightly as she shook her head. “Don’t be, Corvo. I imagine you’ve been very busy, and Jessamine and Emily, of course, as they should, demand much of your attention.”

 

There was a faint smile on his face, although his eyes remained guarded. “As I’m sure this gentleman you’ve been seeing, does too?”

 

Venetica balked again. So was this about . . . was Corvo _jealous_?

 

She shook her head. “Corvo, apologies, but I don’t --”

 

“The gentleman you danced with at Jessamine’s birthday party. He’s handsome . . . you looked very good with him.” His face remained expressionless, the faint smile gone, but there was a glint in his eyes now that Venetica couldn’t quite place. Nor one she particularly liked.

 

Venetica immediately shook her head. “Corvo, Thomas and me, we --”

 

Corvo shaking his own head, interrupted her mid-sentence. “I should have suspected this. It was wrong for me to abandon you the way I did after the miscarriage, but I --” He stopped, a look of almost frustration appearing on his face then. “It hit me hard, and while a part of me knew it hit you hard too, I never thought . . . I never thought you’d seek comfort in the arms of a lover. Not this soon, anyway.”

 

Venetica had to keep herself from scowling. So _this_ was what this was about! Corvo wasn’t jealous that she was possibly seeing another man outside of their marriage. It was out of concern that it was too _soon_.

 

Her head rose almost defiantly. “He cares for me. Which is more than I can say for you.”

 

Corvo reacted as if the words were akin to a slap in the face, and Venetica took a sort of perverse pleasure in the sight and knowledge. Corvo shook his head. “Venetica, I’ve always --”

 

“Oh, _save it_ , Corvo!” She hissed, interrupting him mid-sentence this time. “I know I had multiple opportunities to walk away from this marriage and didn’t, but you had _always_ maintained the stance that I could take a lover of my own. And it’s been little over a _year_ since we’ve been married and had the miscarriage – _when_ is not “too soon” for you?”

 

Corvo’s face was expressionless again. “The court has taken notice --”

 

“I did this _for_ Jessamine!” She bit out with far more anger and venom than she had intended. “I sacrificed _everything_ for her! I sacrificed my _happiness_ , my chances at love, hell – I sacrificed my desire have _children_ , for her!” She shook her head. “There is not a moment I am with him, that I am not happy and cared for. And there is not a moment that goes by that I regret saying yes to you and Jessamine’s _cursed_ proposal!”

 

She was breathing hard from her tirade, chest heaving and eyes wide and enflamed. Vaguely, she knew Daud would be smiling if he could see her then, and the thought seemed to straighten her back even more. Corvo took immediate notice, and his lips thinned somewhat as he performed a stiff bow.

 

“Then, I wish you and this gentleman all the happiness in the world, Lady Attano. Because you have made it plain that you will not take it from me.”

 

“Who said I ever wanted it from you?” She spat back before she could stop herself. A look she couldn’t decipher, crossed Corvo’s face then, and her heart gave an uneasy twisting in her chest. He took a few steps closer to her, his voice lowering somewhat.

 

“I will be honest with you. I know the blonde gentleman who you danced with, is not your lover. I know that the man you have begun to sneak off to see – the man who watched you through the crowd – is. The one who wore a wolf’s mask, which, I thought was a tad strange, for it wasn’t a masquerade, however, this is Dunwall, so I thought nothing more of it. He watched through the crowd all night, though . . . moving almost like a reaper through wheat.”

 

Venetica’s heart pounded like a drum in her chest. Daud . . . how could he know about Daud? There was always the slim chance Martin could have told him, although she doubted it. She liked to think Martin was still somewhat loyal to her and the memory of what once was.

 

But Campbell . . . hadn’t the High Overseer seen her?

 

But how could he have known she had been there researching Daud?

 

 _The book_ . . .! She thought with slowly mounting horror. _I didn’t replace the_ damned _book on the shelf!_

 

Another faint smile appeared on Corvo’s face as she stood there in horror of what she had possibly done. She clasped her hands together behind her back in an effort to keep them from trembling, and it was at this motion that Corvo inclined his head to her.

 

“I’ll take my leave now – the Small Council calls. It is a beautiful day, though, Lady Attano. Be sure you make the time to enjoy it.”

 

He turned and moved back off down the corridor from whence he had come, and she stood there and watched him go for a moment, before turning around and continuing on her way to the gardens. She managed to keep the same calm, fluid gate through the carpeted corridors of the palace, however, she couldn’t stop herself from breaking out into a run as soon as she hit the door to the gardens. Stumbling, she hit one of the low marble walls with her hip, causing her to release of cry of pain that immediately made the blonde man standing in front of her, whirl around. Blue eyes settling on her, they widened as Thomas quickly marched forward to help her keep her balance.

 

“Venetica, what’s --?”

 

“Daud!” She gasped out as she moved to clutch at his arms. “I need to see Daud right _now_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason while playing through the game (especially through Daud's DLCs) I adopted the perception that Billie seemed to carry herself as someone who had once idolized this guy [Daud], almost to the point of developing this fanatic love for him. That love, in turn, somehow ended up being devastatingly crushed (resulting in the bad ending if you played on High Chaos) or heartbreakingly unreciprocated (the Low Chaos), as Daud never struck me as the kind of guy who would fine someone like Billie attractive. I don't know, just my two cents there. Either way, as much as I detested Billie, I couldn't stop looking at her as a very interesting character, which I hope translates well in this piece.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it has taken me this long to update. Chapter just didn't want to be written. But now that it has, I am exceedingly happy at how it has come out. Things definitely heat up between Daud and Venetica, as well as a little revelation at the end that I hope with do a little bit more than surprise you guys. 
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

 

She rushed him before he was even fully down the stairs and Billie fully out the door, and she could see the look of alarm that appeared on his face when she did so. Venetica threw herself into his arms and Daud caught her easily, took a brief moment to marvel at how very light she weighed and how delicate she felt in hands that often crushed bones and throats, and took lives, before asking her, in a voice steeped with concern and alarm, what was wrong.

           

In a torrid out-pour, she explained the encounter she had with Corvo earlier – how she suspected he knew who Daud was, based on her stupidly forgetting to return the Abbey’s book to it’s shelf. That High Overseer Thaddeus Campbell and his ever-growing need to snoop, had probably found the book and then related the knowledge back to her husband. She was worried about him, Daud could tell, and the sight caused a little bit of warmth to return to his long cold heart.

           

But to her surprise, both him and Thomas burst out into laughter when she finished her confession. Brows furrowing in confusion, she bewilderingly looked back and forth between them, at a loss for a moment at what to say. After a moment, Daud gently brushed a lock of stray hair from her face and spoke:

           

“Venetica, I have long been conscious of Corvo’s awareness of me. In fact, I _wanted_ him to know about me. And, I hate to say it, the knowledge long precedes you,” He glanced at Thomas then, and the two men shared a quirking smile. “Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if the knowledge that I am the man you’re seeing behind his back, insults him more than anything.”

           

She gaped up at him for a moment before quickly closing her mouth and feeling the burn of embarrassment shoot across her face. She suddenly felt quite foolish. Daud was the most notorious assassin in Dunwall – of _course_ Corvo would know of him! To think otherwise was pure folly. How else could Corvo grow ever more skilled in protecting the Empress and the Princess Emily if he didn’t know of the _one_ man who had the highest odds of ever getting to them?

         

 “What do you mean you _wanted_ him to know?” She asked, and Daud gave a shrug as Thomas politely excused himself and left the room. Daud guided her over to the two desks while he spoke:

           

“Why else would a Master Assassin want to make himself known to the Royal Protector? Pride, the desire to strike fear . . . a stupid mistake born of both those things?”

           

“A stupid mistake?” She asked with an arched brow, and Daud chuckled.

           

“That’s how I describe it. The Master Assassin who was almost caught by a fledgling Lord Protector still so green he pissed grass. A stupid mistake I vowed never to make again. I don’t like prison, Venetica. Never looked good in stripes.”

           

A small smile appeared on her face, one he mirrored as he gestured to the stove behind him. “Tea? I just got my latest shipment from Serkonos and I’ve been eager to try it out.”

           

Venetica’s brows furrowed slightly as she moved closer to him. “I didn’t know you drank tea.” She spoke, and Daud chuckled again as he reached into a nearby crate and withdrew a tin box. Placing the kettle on the stove, he lit it before speaking:

           

“Even I can only drink _so_ much liquor before I’m tired of it. Tea reminds me of my childhood. Of . . . simpler, brighter times.”

           

Venetica nodded as she moved to lean back against one of the desks. She had a feeling she knew a little of what he meant. Who didn’t reminisce about their childhoods? Who didn’t yearn for that time when the only troubles that could bother you, were so minute and mundane? When you still wore rose-tinted glasses and thought nothing could ever, ever hurt you?

 

But yet, something also told her that Daud knew more of that than anybody.

 

She stood there and watched him work for a moment, before breaking the comfortable silence that had stretched out between them, with a question spoken on a slightly hesitant tone; almost as if she was afraid to ask it. After all, what did they say? Don’t ask questions you didn’t want the answers to?

           

“If you don’t mind me asking, Daud, is . . . is Thomas your son?”

           

Daud smiled, never once taking his eyes off of what he was doing as he answered her. “In a matter of speaking. He isn’t my blood, but he is the closest thing I have to a son. I found him and Billie one afternoon down by the Wrenhaven. I was doing reconnaissance – back then, I had to do it myself, and sometimes, if I’m particularly wary about a contract, I’ll still do it myself – when I discovered them. They were shoeless, filthy, reeking – Dunwall’s cursed, forgotten offspring. Back then, the urchins – orphans who wandered the streets and who had managed to not be rounded up by the Abbey -- would trepan the Wrenhaven looking for valuables they could pawn for food or shelter or clothing. They had been in a small group, I remember, and already had a few valuables they had discovered and pooled together. They had been the only two that didn’t run when they saw me step out from the shadows. The others, they . . . they were frightened by me, by my sword and my guns. But Thomas and Billie, they . . . they only looked up at me with curiosity, and . . . hope, I think? I remember, Thomas reached for the pistol at my hip and asked if I had ever used it before. When I said I had – that I planned to use it very soon, in fact, something . . . something came across his gaze – Billie’s too. Something I recognized, because I possessed it, too. And then he asked: “Will you teach us to use it, too?” I asked them why, and Billie said . . .” He paused here, and looked up then, settling his gaze on some indiscernible spot above the kettle he had placed on the stove. The look in his eyes was one of nostalgia and softness. The look of one remembering an event that had changed the course of his life.   

           

“She said, “Because some people _deserve_ to float in the Outsider’s void.”

           

The words sent a shiver down Venetica’s back and Daud was quick to notice. That was something she was starting to understand about him. Daud noticed changes in his surroundings and the people he was around, with the lightening quickness of a striking snake. Of course, she figured she had too. Any changes in the proverbial tide he didn’t notice, were often liable to get him killed or caught.

           

“So you took them in?”

           

Daud nodded. “Yes. And with the two of them, I started the Whalers.” He nodded towards the doors leading to the rest of the base. “Every single one of them was an orphan forgotten by the city that bred them. Sons and daughters of gangbangers, prostitutes, witches, other undesirables. Flip up the rock that is this city, and you’ll see them scurrying around like ants and spiders, burrowing into the earth like worms. They are what the Royal Spymaster and the High Overseer, wishes not to see. They don’t want to see the ugliness and the festering rot that _is_ Dunwall. Or maybe they do . . . maybe that’s all they see. I don’t know.”

           

“And you’re their father.” She spoke, quietly, and Daud nodded.

           

“They’ve never called me that. But yes, I suppose I am the closest thing any of them have ever had to a ‘father’.”

           

“And you yourself? You don’t have any?”

           

Daud smiled again, and this time, his eyes did meet hers. She forced herself from flushing underneath that intense gaze. “To my knowledge, Venetica, I have never sired a child in my life. Haven’t had the desire to. Haven’t had the _time_.”

           

It was then that the kettle released a sharp whistle letting them know that the water was done. They lapsed into another long, comfortable silence as Daud readied the tea, and as Venetica waited for her cup. When he handed a cup to her with a murmured, “Be careful; it’s hot.” She allowed the heat to warm her hands as she settled on a new, less burdensome question, to ask.

 

“So, are you from here, originally?”

 

Daud gave her one of those smirking smiles of his. “No, not originally. If my mother is to be believed, I’m half-Pandyssian.” He told her, and immediately, Venetica’s eyes widened in surprise as she took a sip of the hot tea in her hands. Of course, she had read that his mother had been from Pandyssian in the Overseer’s field report, but that could have been a rumor, so she hadn’t spared it a thought. Hearing it straight from his own lips, though, made it real, made it . . . aweing.

 

The tea was floral and fruity, with a _lot_ of sugar, but there was something about it that she nevertheless found appealing. The tea didn’t seem like Daud, and maybe that was it. At first glance, he seemed like the kind of man who enjoyed coffee from Tyvia so black, strong, and straight, that a horseshoe would float in it. Coffee that would put hair on your chest during the long, cold winter months – not the kind of tea a woman would enjoy in a spring art salon.

           

But, she supposed, there was a first time for everything. That, and she supposed looks could be very deceiving.

           

“Pandyssia?” She asked, eyebrows rising, and he nodded as he moved to lean against the desk behind him.

           

“Correct. She met my father somehow, I don’t know – she never talked about him much – and _she_ claims they settled down in Serkonos, which is where I was born. He left us when I was young – too young to remember him -- and eventually, I found my way here. I couldn’t take her bullshit anymore.”

           

Venetica’s eyes softened as she took another sip of the tea in her hands, where she allowed the liquid to soothe the cold and the damp from her bones. The Overseer in his field report would claim differently, but if there was anyone who knew of his parents, it would be Daud, wouldn’t it?

 

“If she was Pandyssian, then I bet she was beautiful.” She remarked and his eyes grew soft again as he nodded. His eyes were on her again, and she refrained from blushing and looking away again like she had done in the beginning. Daud looked at her often and unabashedly -- unashamedly. And really, if she was being honest, she didn’t mind it anymore. His gazes put a heat in her bones and a warmth in her stomach that she found addicting and appealing. His were the gazes of a man who couldn’t get enough of what he was looking at; the gazes of a man who was terrified to look away, lest the object of his enthrallment, disappear forever into the ether.

           

Eventually, he spoke, his voice quiet. “She was. Dark, and exotic, and mysterious. I don’t even think _I_ knew her as much as I like to think I did. But that was in her nature – to hide things about herself, even to her own son. She was a strange one, that was for sure. You remind me a little of her, actually . . . she’d approve.” He told her as he got to his feet and moved over to her, arms still crossed in front of his chest. She smiled.

           

“I’m so glad to have the approval of your absentee mother!” She told him, her tone gently teasing, and he couldn’t help but grin and release a laugh.

           

“See, she’d laugh if she heard you say that. She’d say you had spine for a woman who lived in one of the cities . . . she’d like that about you. She always said women from the cities were too spineless. She’d think differently of you, I think.” Venetica smiled as she placed her still steaming cup aside. His grin turned down into a smile at the motion.

           

“What would she think of me being a married woman?”

           

Daud gave a shrug as he moved closer to her, still. His hands reached out to boldly cradle her waist and immediately, heat spread out across her hips – a heat that had never been there before. It was a heat she had never before felt with Corvo. The feeling caused an additional flower of warmth to bloom inside her heart for this killer she was slowly growing to know so intimately.

 

“Like I said, my mother was strange. She was unconventional in both her mannerisms _and_ in her ways of thinking. Even though there was and is a woman on the throne, my mother would still say that Gristol is too patriarchal. She would say that women needed to have more of a say. That there needed to be more women doctors, and soldiers, and even Overseers. They needed to have more influence in Parliament. She used to say that in disciplines where women had a say, they ran smoother – things were done faster and more efficiently. In fact, when she told me stories of her homeland, she mentioned that the society was so matrilineal, that women had many children with multiple husbands. The more husbands the woman had, in fact, the more important she was.”

           

Venetica gave a laugh as her eyebrows rose in interest. “So, by me seeking you out, she would say that I was a . . . confident young woman who knew the needs of her body?” She asked, and he laughed and nodded again, a grin once again appearing on his face.

           

“She would consider you a confident young woman who was very _much_ in tune with her body’s needs, yes. Especially if she figured out that your husband was cuckolding you the way he is. Then she would think that you were a very _smart_ woman to find your pleasures elsewhere. After all – is he not doing the same?”

           

She gave a light chuckle then as she planted her hands on the table behind her and slowly hopped onto the flat surface behind her. Daud allowed her to and when she had settled, he planted his hands on the table beside her and then stepped closer to her. “Sounds like you had a very . . . _feminist_ upbringing.” She spoke and he gave another shrug.

           

“I did. And a very blasphemous one too, if the Abbey had its say. And I would have continued to receive it, had I not left when I was young.”

           

Her brows furrowed slightly. “Why did you leave?”

           

He shook his head, his gaze darkening slightly. “I had my reasons. But the biggest, was what I have already told you. I couldn’t handle the bullshit anymore. Like I said before, she was a very unconventional, strange woman, and also, a very hard one to live with, even for her own son. She was . . . the Abbey would have probably condemned her as a witch if she lived here in Gristol, where the Abbey’s reach is much tighter than it is in Serkonos and the other cities. She was the one who told me to never make an enemy of a witch, in fact. Something I have tried to keep to.”

           

He was so close now, that she could hardly comprehend his words. He smelled curiously of wood smoke and that spiced aftershave that Billie had noticed earlier. She remembered how taut his muscles had felt underneath his jacket, and allowed her hands to move and grip his forearms – corded with muscle and prominent veins, as they were. He picked up his tea to take a swallow, and her hands moved upwards and around, to grip his biceps. They paused there for a moment, and she saw a look of amusement at her enthrallment, appear in his eyes from out of the corner of her own, as her hands eventually moved upwards further to rest on his shoulders, where they curled around the muscular frame. He replaced his cup on the table beside them as her fingers traced his muscles through the fabric. His shoulders were broad like Corvo’s, but Daud was built a little bit stockier than her lanky husband was. Daud’s shoulders were a little more powerful.

           

When her hands finally moved further upwards still, to grip his neck, was when she also tilted her eyes up to his. She smiled. “Hold still for a minute . . . you have a mustache . . .” She murmured, and moved to cup his cheek, where her thumb swiped over the shining trail covering his upper lip. His eyes darkened at the motion, but in a completely different way than it had when she had asked why he had left home when he was younger. Her throat constricted as something seemed to settle comfortably between them. She replaced her hand on his shoulder, right when he bent down and pressed his lips to hers. At first, there was a note of hesitancy in his kiss that took her aback – almost as if he was unsure that she would accept it. But then, her hand curled around the back of his neck, where she brought him further down into her, and his kiss deepened and grew bolder as a result.

           

His tongue entered her mouth – hot and inviting – where it curled with hers. She tasted him – the sharp tang of bourbon and tobacco, and the sweet, fruity tang of the tea – and her head swam from the taste as it filled both her nose and her head. She released a breathy moan as her free hand curled into the starched cloth of his jacket sleeve. Reflexively, her legs parted to wrap around his waist, bringing him deeper into her arms. Her clothed core made contact with the slight tenting of his breeches, and she gasped into his mouth as her handholds on him tightened dramatically, and her back arched. Immediately, the temperature in the room seemed to skyrocket, as well as a definite shifting of gears between them. Daud’s breath hitched, too, and his cock jumped, causing her to release a whimper, and to bite down gently on his bottom lip. Their breathing was starting to come out harshly through their noses, and one of his hands curled into her hair while the other settled a tight grip on her hip. After a moment, his hand left her hair, and moved to splay face down on the table, where he eased her down onto it. His other handhold was used to jerk her hips closer to his, and he grinded his quickly growing erection into the clothed heat between her thighs, and she whimpered again – a sound he thought was sweeter than any nightingale’s song.

           

She was wet . . . he could feel the dampness through his own trousers. He swore against the lips that he had previously been biting and sucking on, while all the while fighting against the temptation to slide his hands down her own silken trousers and feel how wet she really was for him.

 

He swore louder – and a little bit meaner than he had intended -- and reluctantly tore his lips away from hers when a sudden terse, urgent knock echoed on the door to his rooms. He heard Venetica release a moan of protest that had him damn near swooning.

           

“Overseer’s _balls_ – what is it _now_?” He hissed, and Venetica gave a laugh as he stood there for a minute. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and willed his head to clear. It wasn’t the first time he had been forced to do such a thing, but it would have been a lot _fucking_ easier if Venetica’s fingers weren’t currently moving through his hair as her lips and teeth ran along his jawline and the lobe of his ear -- _and_ if her core wasn’t still cradling his erection through their trousers . . .

 

And if his fingers weren’t downright _itching_ to slide down her pants and play with her, _just_ to hear her breathe his name and beg him to make her come as she rode his fingers with a young, womanish enthusiasm that had him closing his eyes and groaning at the thought . . .!

           

Oh, by the Outsider! What would he _give_ at that moment, to just be able to ignore whoever it was that was at his door, _just_ long enough for him to take care of this building ache that had settled within the both of them?

           

For the first time in a _very long time_ , sex actually interested him – _greatly_! And he was pissed he was being interrupted!

 

“Are you okay, Daud?” She asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper, and he swallowed hard before shaking his head. Her uttering his name on that slightly breathless voice of hers, was downright brutal for his self-control. At least she was done slowly driving him insane with those little love bites she had been doing. He could be thankful for that, at least.

 

“Not even fucking close, sweetheart!” He answered, his own voice hard and irritated, as he brought up his head. With a sniff, he ran his fingers through his hair – trying to put at least _some_ order into chaos – before trying to wrestle down at least a modicum of self-restraint. He stepped away from her slightly to look over her shoulder, her legs falling away from his waist as he did so. With a scowl, he motioned the Whaler inside. She heard the door open and close behind her, and when Daud spoke, his voice was cold and hard: “What is it? Can’t you see we’re busy in here?”

           

Venetica could hear the nervousness in the Whaler’s tone as he replied: “Uh, yes Daud, I’m really sorry for disturbing you. But there’s, an, uh . . . there’s someone who requests a meeting with you. He says . . . he says it would be very much worth your time to meet with him, and Billie . . . well, Billie thought it prudent to bring this to your attention immediately.” The Whaler spoke, and she saw Daud’s jaw harden, as well as his eyes.

           

“Of course she would. Where is he? He’s not _here_ , is he?”

           

The Whaler immediately shook his head. “No, of course not. _He’s_ asking to see _you_. I assume he’s wherever he wishes to meet with you at. Billie should know more, though.” Daud cursed again and marched over to the fellow assassin, where he exchanged a few hushed words with him. When he was done, he shook his head as he turned around and moved back over to her.

           

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have to take this – it’s a very important possible client. I . . . _might_ be back before morning, but I’m not sure.”

           

Venetica laughed and shook her head as she leaned upwards to plant a loving kiss along the line of his strong jaw. She felt him relax underneath the press of her lips and his hand appeared at her waist again, where he gave an affectionate squeeze. With every _fiber_ of his being, he wanted to stay and finish what their lips and their bodies had started, but couldn’t. Not for the first time, he allowed himself to silently curse his chosen profession.

 

“I can stay here if you don’t mind.” She told him, rather cheerfully, and when she gazed up at him, it was to find his gaze soft.

 

“What if your husband starts missing you?”

           

Venetica shot him an amused look. “Corvo? Missing me? Now _that’s_ hilarious!” She spoke with a snort, and he rolled his eyes.

           

“You’re an esteemed member of the court, Venetica, and one of the Empress’ dearest friends and confidantes. You might be able to get away with being gone for a day, but any longer than that, and --”

           

“Fine.” She interrupted him and he immediately came to a stop, his eyebrows rising at the cool tone of her voice. She gave a nod. “Your right, Daud. Let Thomas take me back to the palace. Can I come back tomorrow night, though?”

           

Daud gazed at her for a moment before nodding. “Of course you can. If Corvo visits the Empress tomorrow night, light a candle in your window. Thomas will be waiting for you. If he does stay, then simply close the curtains. He’ll get the hint then,” He turned his eyes onto the Whaler waiting for him. “Fetch Thomas. Tell him I need him to take Venetica back to the palace.” The Whaler nodded and spun around on his heels, where he left the room. Daud returned his eyes onto her, where he gazed down at her for a moment. Her eyes were downcast to the floor and gently, he hooked his finger underneath her chin and tilted her head up so that their gazes could lock. It was then that his hand moved upwards to cup her cheek, where his thumb skated over her bottom lip. He leaned down and pressed a loving, slow kiss to her lips. She returned the kiss and it deepened ever-so-slightly for a moment before he slowly and reluctantly broke apart. He held her close for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

           

She gave a smile and a nod. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Daud. Not after what just happened!” She murmured, and he smiled and held her close, cradling her against him, until two other  Whalers appeared. One was Thomas and the other -- a woman -- was one she didn’t recognize. While Thomas shot her a welcoming smile and a nod, the woman gazed at her with an expressionless face that hid her barely disguised suspicion and distrust. Daud nodded at them when they entered.

           

“You ready?” He asked the woman, and she gave a curt nod as he turned back to her. Pressing another tender kiss to her forehead, he moved over to the woman and ushered her out of his office, his cool demeanor of professionalism back in place. The woman cast Venetica a look over her shoulder before following Daud closely on his heels. Thomas must have noticed the look of slight confusion planted on Venetica’s face, for he continued to smile as he moved over to her.

           

“That’s Billie Lurk, Daud’s Second-in-Command. You’ve probably heard of her?” Venetica nodded.

 

“Yes, he’s told the story of when he found the two of you.” She spoke, and Thomas nodded.

 

“We’re like his son and daughter, for he raised us both. Some say, though, that Billie wishes he would look at her in another way than that of a man who had raised a woman from a child.” Venetica’s brow furrowed slightly.

           

“What way do you mean?”

           

Thomas sent her a look of amusement. “She wants him to look at her, the way that he looks at you, Lady Venetica: like there is no other woman in the world that could live to be his equal.”

                                                                                    

* * *

 

Daud left with his heart pounding like a Pandyssian war drum in his chest. He had broken out into a cold sweat that he hadn’t noticed until they stepped outside and he felt the cold wind kissing the dampness. His throat was dry like cotton, and despite the numerous looks of curiosity Billie sent him, he remained silent. There was no way Billie had seen what he had seen, for only he kept council with the dark being that was the Outsider. And despite her burgeoning hatred of Venetica, he knew the sight would have sent her into tremors of fear, too.

           

Or maybe she wouldn’t have. Maybe the sight was catered to terrify only _him_. Maybe the sight of the Outsider, blinking black eyes as soulless as the void he came from, but twinkling in sick amusement, as he draped himself over Venetica’s shoulders while she stood talking with Thomas, was done to reveal to him a truth that would otherwise go unsaid. Or a wordless warning that was meant only for him. And truth be told, it wasn’t the draping that terrified him.

           

It was the Outsider’s hand on her stomach. Clenching and relaxing, almost as if he was preparing to grab something from within her and pull it out into the light of day, while she stood there talking with Thomas, completely oblivious to what had ensnared Daud's attention so cruelly.

           

What terrified him so, was that Daud was now eerily convinced he knew what had been done to make Venetica suffer that miscarriage.

           

After all . . . it wouldn't have suited the order of things, for Venetica to have given birth to Corvo’s child, now would it?


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aren't you guys lucky, two chapters in one day! After finishing up and posting the previous chapter, I was hit with an idea and simply couldn't stop writing, hence, this chapter. I'm happy with it too, and, hopefully, you guys will be too. Also, sorry for the short length -- figured the content more than made up for it.
> 
> Warning! This Chapter Contains:  
> Possible Disturbing Imagery

* * *

 

It was under the dark, comforting cover of night, when Thomas darted and Blinked across the rooftops spanning Kaldwin’s Bridge. The orders had been waiting for him when he arrived back from delivering Venetica safely back into the walls of the palace. Orders direct from Daud before he left, commanding him to sneak into Sokolov’s and discover whatever it was the Royal Physician was hiding there. He added that Thomas would know what Daud wanted him to discover when he found it, and to bring it back to him so he could see what it was with his own eyes.

           

He said he would explain everything when they both returned, and that if Thomas were to arrive back at headquarters before he did, to lock himself in Daud’s office with whatever he found, and to not let anyone in on pain of the worst punishment Daud could think of, short of killing him.

 

Thomas knew he was serious. The deadliest kind of seriousness. The kind of seriousness that was only born from a man who was terrified at what he would find, but determined all the same to find it.

           

Thomas would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little scared, himself.

           

He trusted Daud. He trusted him with his life. He trusted and loved him with a blind loyalty that only ever came to the religiously zealot, or the exceedingly dumb. Thomas didn’t place himself in either category, but all the same, he was intensely proud to be handed this mission, no matter how much it gave him the creeps the closer he got to Sokolov’s. Billie had gone with Daud to meet this mysterious new contract holder, but even if she hadn’t, Thomas knew she wouldn’t have gotten this mission. This mission, with it’s terrifying amount of secrecy and unknowns, Daud only trusted to Thomas. Thomas, of whom he was so certain of his love and loyalty. Thomas, who was sure to get the red coat of the Second-in-Command, should Daud’s irritancy of Billie ever reach the boiling point.

           

Thomas would never let Daud down. Unlike Billie, he would rather die. He was happy that Daud knew that.

           

Two guards guarded the front door, but Thomas slipped by them easily enough as they stood by the railing, talking quietly and spitting chew into the Wrenhaven below. The first floor, Sokolov’s workshop, was practically deserted, save for whatever contraptions the scientist was working on for the Empress, as well as a few shrouded canvasses and half-chiseled hunks of marble. The second floor dining hall, study, and kitchen, were only being manned by two maids finishing up their duties before they wandered off home. They spoke of the plague, in hushed, frightened whispers of those who were poor enough to know they would be one of the first to be hit when it finally began picking up speed. They spoke even more quietly, if their jobs working for Sokolov, would ensure them good places in line for whatever cure he would inevitably come up with.

           

Thomas mused on this for a moment, as he snuck past the whispering maids, and to the third floor, where Sokolov’s bedroom and the elevator to his greenhouse on the fourth floor, lay. The plague had been on everyone’s lips for a while now – especially those lower born who were hit hardest by epidemics. It was being spread by Pandyssian rats; vicious things as big as house cats. The plague was a nasty thing too, that killed quickly if it didn’t turn you into an insane, zombified being called a “Weeper” that attacked everything that moved, friend or foe or complete stranger. Sokolov was working on a cure, he had to be, people whispered, and while Thomas knew this plague was going to get worse before it got better, he tried not to worry about it. He trusted Daud, and believed in his leadership. Daud would see them through this, just like he had every other rough spot the Whalers had ever been in. Thomas was confident that he would.

           

The part of the room that actually constituted as Sokolov’s bedroom, was unsurprisingly Spartan, while the west side of the room was given over completely to yet another laboratory. Thomas quickly rifled through everything, making sure that whatever it was that Daud wanted, wasn’t there, and after becoming content that there was nothing there that would interest Daud, he moved on to the elevator after pocketing four huge river krust pearls and two gold bars.

           

The wrought iron grate to the elevator was locked, causing Thomas to curse quietly underneath his breath. Peering upwards into the blackness, he saw the vague outline of the elevator above, but had a feeling it wasn’t in working order.

           

“Fuck . . .”

           

Looking around, he moved out of the room. Looking both ways down the corridor, he took off in the opposite direction from which he had come. At the end of the hall, he hung a left and eventually came to an opened platform where a chain hung that would take him to the fourth floor and Sokolov’s greenhouse.

           

“Looks like it’s going to be the hard way . . .” Thomas muttered before tentatively pulling on the chain with all his weight. When he was content that it _wouldn’t_ go crashing a hundred or so feet down into the Wrenhaven with him hitching a ride when he was midway up, he pulled himself up and began to climb.

           

He reached the top and was surprised to see no guards and no Sokolov. The greenhouse was completely deserted and while he did pick the lock with relative ease, he couldn’t help but feel that the original creep factor that had come along with the mission, had returned. While Sokolov’s absence could be explained away by duties at the palace that called for his attention, why were there no guards? Sokolov _always_ had guards because he was _always_ working on top secret things for the Empress.

           

The greenhouse was full of plants and lab tables. Chemicals and recording machines were placed at different spots around the earthy smelling place; on different lab tables designed for different experiments. A cell was at the end of the wall, where a woman, either passed out or dead, lay on a ratty mattress. Thomas had been in Sokolov’s greenhouse a couple of times, mainly for Intel regarding another contract. He liked to think that the greenhouse surroundings were starting to become familiar to him.

           

That was how he noticed something had changed.

           

A cabinet, humming due to the tank of whale oil placed in the socket beside it, radiated a coldness that was in stark relief against the natural warmth of the greenhouse. Thomas approached this cabinet without looking or rummaging around in anything else, knowing almost instinctively that whatever this cabinet held, was what Daud was looking for.

           

The creep factor upped a little bit more, and a tiny voice in his head whispered for him to turn around, go back to Daud, and tell him that he hadn’t found anything. The other part, though – the loyalty and the love that so separated him and Billie – forbid him from doing such a thing. It made him reach out a hand and grasp the handle of the cabinet. It forced him to pull open not a door, but out a drawer, instead. He pulled out a medium sized tray where a small body lay covered reverentially with an oilcloth.

           

Thomas heart beat hard in his chest – so hard it hurt – upon sight of what greeted him upon pulled out the drawer. He had to swallow hard to get past the lump that had been forming steadily in his throat, and he found his hands were shaking as he reached to fold back the oilcloth.

           

When he did so, that sense of fear returned as hot bile that he expelled from his mouth into the nearby trashcan. He had seen death in many shapes and sizes and forms in his career. He had killed mercilessly, gently, indifferently. He had shoved men into wood chippers, hung them to make them look like accidents. He had, however, never killed a child – Daud outlawed it – thought it an abhorrent practice. He had thought himself impervious to the many faces of the being he often encompassed, but this . . . Thomas wasn’t a religious man, either, but this almost made him one.

           

The small form was that of a child – one soon to be born, in fact. It was a boy -- perfect, handsome and otherwise healthy. Except for what marred it’s body in clear, shining black script.

           

He didn’t immediately recognized the symbols that looked tattooed onto the infant’s body, but knew Daud would immediately upon sight. He knew, sickeningly, that this was what Daud was looking for, and it was only when he was bundling up the small form in a blanket taken off a nearby table before tucking him reverentially into his own satchel, that he realized that he had seen those symbols most often etched onto the whalebones and other runes they would find scattered all around Dunwall and at those mysterious purple shrines Daud would often go to for prayer.

           

This was the Outsider’s doing, but why? Why would the Outsider have any interest in an unborn child?

           

Thomas left Sokolov’s safe house quickly and without incident. The lack of any guards save the front door, still unnerved him, but he found that source of uneasiness far from his mind. The weight in the satchel hanging at his side, and what that weight belonged to, was what occupied his thoughts, and he found himself praying to the Outsider that Daud would be back at headquarters when he returned.

           

He didn’t want to be locked in a room with that infant any longer than he had to.

                                                                               

* * *

       

Daud returned to the Whaler base later than he had anticipated, and in a foul mood. The meeting had been eventful, with a man he never would have expected to have ever wanted an audience with him. The proposal had been mind-numbing and shattering, but lucrative. It was a contract that threatened the very foundations of the Empire, _and_ his relationship with Venetica.

           

He left, promising the client that he would think on it, and then later send him word of his decision. The possible ramifications of his contract exhilarated him. Unnerved him. _Frightened_ him. It would be a near impossible job, but hadn’t the word ‘impossible’ never been in his vocabulary? He had taken on impossible contracts before, but this one . . . was he willing to risk all for it?

           

He wasn’t sure. Even if the reward for this, was bigger than any amount of gold he had ever been rewarded previously.

           

He had dismissed Billie immediately after entering Whaler territory and was quick to notice the look of resentment that clouded her features as they parted ways. Once, a long time ago, Billie had formed part of his shadow. She had followed him everywhere – his closest confidante, as his Second should. But now, she was damn near disgraced – overlooked in favor of the potential of Thomas. And all because she had made one stupid mistake one night, oh so long ago.

           

Both sets of double doors were locked when he reached them, and his heart picked up it’s beat as his foul mood seemed to disappear like the morning mist in favor of the afternoon sun. Through the clear panes of glass, he saw Thomas standing at the opening in the wall that constituted the third entrance to his quarters – guarding it. His eyes were glued to something laying on one of the desks, and his fingers were at his lips. His handsome features were pale, drawn. As Daud unlocked and opened one set of the doors, catching sight of the look of relief that speared through Thomas’ features when he caught sight of Daud slipping into the room, he realized he had never before seen Thomas look so rattled.

           

“Oh thank the Outsider your back!” Thomas breathed, meeting him quickly halfway, and Daud nodded.

           

“Yes, I’m sorry. The meeting took place far longer than I had anticipated.” His eyes met his and Thomas gave a careless shrug that was completely adverse with the way his body shook.

           

“Nothing happened; everything as quiet as an Abbey, in fact. Absolutely no problems, no sir-ee . . .!”

           

Thomas was dangerously on the border of nervous rambling, so Daud kept him from it by asking if the mission had gone smoothly. Thomas held his gaze for moment with an unwavering one of his own. When he eventually spoke, his voice was a threadbare whisper. He swallowed hard and nodded toward the desk with the covered shape laying upon it. His shaking had stopped.

           

“It’s over there. I-I re-covered it when I placed it there. I couldn’t . . .” He swallowed hard again, his gaze pleading. “Is it what you were looking for, Daud?”

           

“I don’t know . . .” Daud answered him, quietly, as he moved slowly over to the covered shape lying on the desk. His eyes were glued to it, brows gently furrowed. He was aware that Thomas had not followed him. The young man, well-known in the Whalers for his talents in Intel, as well as the golden blonde locks that drove women crazy, maintained his spot by the opening in the wall, almost as if he would dart at the slightest movement. This wasn’t like Thomas, and it had Daud worried. Thomas was normally never this shaken. Normally never like a deer caught in headlights.

           

Daud grasped the edges of the oilcloth and paused for a moment to brace himself for the sight of whatever lay underneath, before gently pulling it away. When he caught sight of the deceased infant with the Outsider’s symbols seeming tattooed onto every inch of it’s small body, with bare millimeters of flesh in-between, it took everything Daud had not to scream in rage for the Outsider.

           

“Oh, Outsider’s Eyes . . .” Daud breathed, his eyes as wide as saucers. “What did he do you, Venetica?”

           

“Venetica?” Thomas quickly spat out. Turning to look at him over his shoulder, Daud watched as Thomas finally took a few steps towards him, brows furrowed in confusion. “What in the Void does _Venetica_ have to do with all this? With-with . . . _that_?”

           

Daud didn’t answer him for a moment, and instead, turned his eyes back onto the child. His eyes swept over the symbols, some he recognized, some he didn’t, and was only brought back by Thomas practically shouting his name. His voice was steeped with anger and venom, and Daud gave a brief smile before turning to look at him. When he spoke, his voice was as threadbare as Thomas’ had been previously, almost as if this was not at all what he had been expecting Thomas to find in Sokolov’s greenhouse.

           

“This, Thomas . . . is the son of Venetica and Corvo Attano.”

           

Thomas’ mouth fell open then and hung like a puppet’s whose strings had broken. He stood there, completely dumbfounded for a moment, before finally uprooting his feet. Slowly, he moved over to stand next to Daud, where he gazed down at the child intently for the first time since he found him. Shaking his head slowly, almost numbly, he spoke: “The miscarriage . . . this is the son?” He asked, looking at Daud, who nodded. “And the Outsider . . . he caused it? But . . . but why?”

           

Daud shook his head. “I have no idea. But I intend to find out.”

           

Thomas turned to gaze at him, his eyes wide and afraid. “But . . . Daud, will you tell her?”

           

Daud released a laugh. “Tell her what, Thomas?” He asked, his voice frail and quiet – almost like the voice of an old man. “Tell her that the Outsider ripped her child from her womb because, what? It had the potential to disrupt whatever plans that psychopathic bastard put into place?” He turned his eyes down onto the child again. “That the boy looks like his father? That, had he lived, he would have grown to be just as handsome as Corvo, but secretly reviled by the Empress she calls friend and sister, because he will embody everything that Jessamine does not have?” Daud shook his head. “No, Thomas. I’m not telling her anything. Not now. Not until I get answers.”  

           

“But how are you going to do that?” Thomas asked, and Daud shook his head. His eyes were back on the child. Almost as if he couldn’t look away.

           

“I’m going to try and get an audience with Him, if He doesn’t automatically come on his own. That might actually be possible, if He’s been watching me like He says He does.”

           

“And what if he doesn’t give you any answers? Or answers to the questions you want answered, anyway?”

           

Daud stayed quiet at this for a moment. Eventually, he swallowed hard and shook his head. “Then I will have tried to put this ghost to rest, now wouldn’t I?”

           

“And what of Venetica?”

           

The silence that Daud exuded was longer this time. His voice, when he spoke this time, was quieter and frailer. “She lives her life content to belief that the miscarriage was simply what Sokolov told her it was: a miscarriage. If He doesn’t give me the answers I seek, then who would I be to snatch that comfort away from her and leave her bereft?”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated on making this a lengthier chapter, but in the end, decided against it. The "second" part to this chapter should be uploaded not long after this one, so stayed tuned, folks!

* * *

 

“Have you heard anything . . .?

           

“Venetica . . .?

           

“ _Venetica_ . . .!”

           

Venetica jumped at her name snapped on a slightly irritated tone, eyes widening, as she turned to face Jessamine standing beside her, delicate black brows furrowed in slight bewilderment. The Empress slowly shook her head before releasing a brief laugh. “My friend, where _were_ you? I seemed to have been talking to a wall for the past ten minutes!” She asked, and Venetica swallowed hard and shook her head as she cast her eyes out across the Wrenhaven again from their perch in the courtyard’s marble gazebo.

           

“Nothing . . .” She whispered. “And no, I haven’t . . . I haven’t heard much of anything lately.” She added, showing her friend that she had indeed been listening to her. In truth, she had been steeped deep into memories of the previous day – of her and Daud and the sheer passion that had erupted between them, however miniscule events had been to warrant that kind of passion. She had never felt something so awe-inspiring and encompassing as what she had felt with Daud – never thought a man could ever make her feel that way! Outsider only knew _Corvo_ never had!

           

She longed for him. And as she stood there beside her friend, Jessamine taking her into confidence, she found herself longing to return to him. She counted the hours until her meeting with Thomas in the back garden that would whisk her away to him and back into his arms.

           

Jessamine’s heavy sigh, was what brought her out of her thoughts and back into reality. She glanced at the Empress as she shook her head. “The plague is getting worse. More and more are found dead in their homes every day. I grieve for my people.”

           

“Sokolov promises that he will have our cure any day now,” Venetica spoke, quietly. “Just wait, Jessamine. All is not yet lost.”

           

Jessamine gave a sad shake of her head. “I fear we are at least on the precipice, Venetica. Which is why I’m sending Corvo away.”

           

This garnered Venetica’s undivided attention. Immediately, her gaze snapped onto Jessamine standing beside her, where her brows furrowed. “You’re sending him away? Do to what, exactly?”

           

Jessamine’s voice lowered. “He is to travel to the other provinces, to see if they have ever encountered a plague such as this one, before. I pray he finds success, but I know he will not. Pandyssian _rats_ . . .!” She gave a scoffing laugh and shook her head again. “How those vermin ever appeared in Dunwall, is a mystery to me!”

           

 _Daud would probably know._ Venetica couldn’t help but think. _After all . . . doesn’t Daud brag about knowing everything in Dunwall_?

           

“But why send away your greatest source of protection, Jessamine?” Venetica asked, and Jessamine sent her a mournful smile.

           

“I am not a fool, dear friend. This plague will not keep itself among the poor forever. Eventually, it will make its way up the ladder. Eventually, minor nobles and the middle class will find themselves taken by it, and then, eventually, the nobles of my Parliament. Once they have it, it is only a matter of time before it breaches the walls of the palace and threatens all I hold dear. And a plague is not something Corvo can protect me from, Venetica. However, if I send him away now, beseeching help from the other provinces, maybe . . . maybe he can protect me that way.” She shook her head. “While praying that Sokolov finishes that damn cure of his as fast as he can!”

           

Venetica nodded as she turned to face her friend fully. “I won’t lie to you, Jessamine. I will not miss him much.”

 

Jessamine’s smile this time, was small. “Yes . . . thanks be to this mysterious lover of yours.” She spoke, and Venetica shook her head.

 

“He’s not my lover. Not . . .” She trailed off, unable to speak the last word. _Not yet_.

 

She had not yet forsaken her husband’s bed. _Not yet_.

 

She would with Daud, though – the infamous Knife of Dunwall. She couldn’t – _wouldn’t_ – dare tell Jessamine his identity, but all the same . . . she wondered what the Empress would think if Venetica told her she was tempted to bed down with Dunwall’s most fearsome assassin.

 

So she stood there for a moment, at an utter loss of words, before quickly finding her footing. She stumbled on. “Jessamine, d-do not misunderstand me! I will pray for a safe journey for him, but all the same, his wife will not miss his presence. Not because there is another man, but because he has never meant anything more to me than a . . . a husband made out of convenience. Even the child we had together, it wasn’t . . .” She trailed off again, not wanting to say what she was about to say, but knowing deep in her bones that it was the truth. “The child was not conceived of love. Not like a child should be.”

 

Jessamine nodded again, and took up her hands. “Do you care for him, Venetica? This man you are seeing?”

 

Venetica nodded. “Yes, I do.”

 

“And does he care about you?”

 

Thomas' words rang in her head – his words over how Daud had not cared for a woman as much as he cared for her, in a very long time – and smiled. She nodded. “Yes, I think he does.”

 

Jessamine smiled. “Then that is all that matters. I never thought you and Corvo would grow to love each other – the both of you resented this marriage too much to allow yourselves to do so. I am just . . . I am _pleased_ , and _happy_ , that you have found someone to love in his place. You deserve it.”

 

 _Would you say the same, though, upon discovering who he was_? Venetica thought before heaving a sigh and squeezing her hands. “Jessamine, it is _you_ I worry about, in Corvo’s absence! Without him, you are vulnerable to attack. What if something were to happen in his absence?” She asked, and Jessamine’s smile seemed somehow brighter than the last.

           

“I do not expect you to understand, for you are not Empress. But believe me when I say, that for the good of my people, Venetica, it is something that I am simply forced to risk.”

                                                                                    

* * *

 

Out of all the times Daud knelt and prayed at one of the Outsider’s shrines, he had never truly expected the Dark God to show himself. The Outsider was a fickle being – something only ever truly understood except by those who worshipped him as fervently as Daud did – for he only showed himself if it suited _his_ needs. And if he would have taken a day and thought it through some more, Daud would have come to the shrine with an actual list of questions he wanted answered. However, he hadn’t. His rage and his grief for the agony Venetica had gone through, drove him blindly, ceaselessly, forward. It took him hours to find a suitable shrine tucked away in the ruined Market District, and as he knelt there on broken cobblestones and splintered glass, and prayed, his teeth grit harder and his hands tightened more and more into fists made of stone.

           

“Oh, come now Daud! I thought we were through with this!”

           

His words broke mid-prayer, and the Knife of Dunwall spun around to face the Mad God he worshipped – the Mad God who had given him the tools to make him what he was at that moment – a killer, an assassin. Daud’s eyes were hard and livid. The Outsider, though, simply smiled. “Rage . . . oh, how rage has always suited you, my old friend. You wear it well. Like a well-fitted jacket.”

           

“Why did you do it? Why did you rip her child from her?”

           

The Outsider canted his head. “Why? Because it had to be done.”

           

Daud’s brows furrowed slightly. The Outsider’s words were spoken on a tongue as hard as Daud’s eyes. He shook his head and took a step closer to him. His pupil-less black eyes were curious. “Why are you angry, Daud? I gave you what you wanted – can’t you see that? I gave you someone you could love – someone who would love you, despite your deeds, despite the rain of blood that follows you and threatens to drown you. I _gave_ you someone . . . to _keep_ you from drowning.”

           

“But you _ripped_ her child --!”

           

“I did you a favor, you ungrateful mortal!” The Outsider snapped, interrupting him mid-sentence. He shook his head in disgust. “I saw how you looked at her – how you coveted her – through the crowd of her own wedding procession! How you looked after her like a lovesick schoolboy! And the more I watched, the more I thought . . .” He paused then, and trailed off, and when he spoke next, it was with a much softened tone – one that became almost cajoling. Like a parent to a child who was throwing a tantrum. “You have served me so well over the years, Daud, haven’t you? You’ve sent so many tortured souls screaming into my void. I wanted to reward you for your years of loyal service, and the hours upon hours of dedicated prayer you have spent at my shrines. I wanted to give you what you always wanted but could never have! That child, the child of Corvo Attano, would have been in the _way_! You would never have truly had her, had she given birth to that child. She would forever have had an excuse to leave you – to stay loyal to man she loathed, above a man she _loved_!”

           

Daud glared at him for a moment before slowly rising to his feet. “If ripping an innocent child from her womb and causing her agony, was all it took for me to get her, then was it all worth it? Will it _all_ be worth it, in the end?”

           

The Outsider stayed silent for a moment before his head canted again. “And what of your future deeds, Daud? Does this contract you are ruminating so heavily on, not have the potential to destroy everything you have cultivated with her so far? Are you not prepared to risk all to secure her future?”

           

Daud kept the Outsider’s gaze – the only mortal he Mad God had ever known to be able to do such a thing – and thought. He thought about it hard. He thought about it harder, standing there in the Outsider’s presence, than he had ever done alone up in his quarters. And the more he thought about it, the more he found himself coming to a decision. Until eventually, before he knew it, he had arrived at one.

 

Venetica deserved better – there was not arguing that. And if this contract paid enough gold to where he could give her better, then he would take it – with no hesitation.

           

She deserved the golden sands of Bastillian, the exotic spices of Cullero, and the colorful streets of Karnaca. She deserved better than a lifetime of servitude and obligations to a people who would never show her any gratitude for her work. She deserved better than this grey city of bones, and stones, and blood, and steel. She deserved better than to be stuck in a loveless marriage to a man she loathed.

           

She deserved better than Dunwall. And Daud could give her all of that.

           

The Outsider adopting a small smile, drug him almost painfully back into reality. “To answer your question, Daud, in the end, yes, I do think it will be worth it. And I did not lie to you earlier, when I told you that you would fight, and crawl, and bleed for her. But despite all that – despite the amount of work it will take to keep her, I do think it will be worth it for you. The only question is . . . will she think you are?”

                                                                                    

* * *

 

It was darker than usual, when Venetica was finally able to make it down to the garden to meet Thomas. She had spent the remainder of the day in her rooms, free of Jessamine’s presence – free of the feeling that she was betraying her friend by seeing Daud. He was an assassin – the Knife of Dunwall! At any moment, he could be contracted to take her life – to snuff it out of existence, and without Corvo here . . .

           

In the end, who would she choose? The woman who had been like a sister to her since they were children? Or the man she felt a powerful, inexplicable draw to? A feeling she knew she would never feel with anyone else.

           

She had been gazing out one of the windows when the door opened, admitting Corvo to the rooms he spent only a fraction of his time in. He had frozen to a halt when he saw her, standing there, twisting a necklace of river krust pearls around her fingers, before uprooting his feet and moving to his desk. He began collecting papers, and eventually, would move on to his clothes. He would take only the essentials, she knew. The rest he would leave here, guarded only by his ghost of a wife with her own secrets to harbor.

           

“You’ve heard the news, I suspect?”

           

She nodded, not tearing her eyes away from the window and the view beyond. How had she not noticed that it was such a spectacular view before then? “Yes . . . Jessamine told me.”

           

“Suppose it’s news you’ve greeted with happiness?”

           

She finally tore her eyes away from the window and leveled them on his back, right between the shoulder blades. They had never had a fairytale love in their marriage, but for a while, they had gotten along better than she ever would have thought possible. But that was before the miscarriage. The miscarriage that tore whatever amiability there was between them, into shreds. She ached for the loss of her son in a way that she only thought mothers who had suffered the same as she had, would ever feel. She did not, however, miss Corvo. Only his son. Only ever his son that would also have been hers.

           

“I hope you have a good journey.”

           

It was all she could say to him, and noticed the shaking of his frame that told her he was laughing quietly. “No you don’t. Deep down inside, you don’t. For if I die, will you not be able to marry your assassin, free of guilt? You can be with the man you love, without incurring the Abbey’s wrath?”

           

“Daud and I will always incur the Abbey’s wrath, Corvo, you know this. I would hardly ever call our union, peaceful. Because of who he is, there will always be danger lurking in the shadows.”

           

Corvo was silent for a moment, and it was a heavy, palpable silence that Venetica felt just as keenly. Now that his name was out in the open – the identity of the man she was seeing behind his back – there was a slight sense of relief that she could feel. She could not tell Jessamine who he was, nor anyone else at court. But in some strange, off-the-wall way, she felt could trust Corvo with this information. She might end up making a fool of herself in the end, but all the same . . .

           

“He is a lucky man, Daud,” Corvo eventually spoke, his voice quiet. His back was still to her, but he was hunched over his desk now, gripping the ends with a strength that momentarily surprised her. “For you deserve the world, and a man who will give you the world, and I was never that man. But Daud is. And he will. At the very least, he will try in his damndest to.”

           

She was reminded of what Daud said earlier: of how he had almost met his end with a younger, greener, Corvo, and all because he had made a stupid mistake. She wondered then if Corvo remembered him – the titan he had almost felled. Her curiosity was almost too much to bear, at that point. But bear it she did.

           

“I will say this, though,” Corvo stood and turned toward her then, his face as clear as a pane of glass. “I do not know how long I will be gone. In my absence, Jessamine will be vulnerable – far more vulnerable than I think she realizes. If, in that time, Daud chooses to take up a contract on her life, and _succeeds_ . . . know, Venetica, that I will hunt him to the ends of the earth to exact my vengeance. Knife of Dunwall or not, I will try my hardest to kill him. Do I make myself clear?”

           

His words scared her far more than she would have liked to admit. For a moment, she was terrified her fear was showing on her face. However, once she had regained some semblance of control over herself, she realized that, miraculously, her face had remained as expressionless as his throughout the duration of his warning. Eventually, she nodded.

           

“Yes,” She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I understand.”          

           

Corvo stayed silent for a moment then, until his hand reached up and cupped her cheek. She refrained from shying away from the touch, instead, enraptured by the sheer amount of mourning and sadness there was in his eyes. “Enjoy him, Venetica. Cherish him, and let him hold you close. Find as much happiness in him as you can, because . . .” He trailed off then, and didn’t speak further. He withdrew his hand back to his side and returned to his desk. In the same moment, she returned her eyes to the window, her guts still churning with Corvo’s promise.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, ya'll, but this chapter just didn't want to be written. And if I'm being honest, I'm not too happy with it. I feel like I wrote Billie a little "too" OOC at the beginning, and just simply could not figure out how to write her any better. So eventually, I went with this, and if it's too bad, I'll go back in and give it another whirl, but I don't know guys . . . it was hard to write!
> 
> But I do have some good news! For all of you who have been waiting, this chapter does contain the long anticipated love scene between Daud and Venetica. It is explicit, like all my lemons are, so reader beware. If you don't care for that kind of thing, and just wanna be here for the plot, then please, feel free to skip over it. Won't break my feelings, any. However, because of that, I have boosted up the rating to "Explicit".
> 
> PS: Sorry for the length, but sex scenes have a tendency to be bulky things.

* * *

 

She froze when she reached the garden and realized that the person waiting for her, was not Thomas.

 

It was the woman that liked to hang around Daud like a shadow. His Second-in-Command – Billie Lurk, was her name? She was standing in a shadowed corner of the courtyard – _lurking_ , almost – instead of out in the open like Thomas was always found. Her eyes shifted constantly around the open space, missing little. Like Daud, she was constantly surveying the area for changes in the environment, however minute, and that was what eventually caused her eyes to snap onto Venetica upon her arrival. The look of distaste on her face upon catching sight of her, was unmistakable, the hatred in her eyes, fearsome and worrying.

 

“I’m here to escort you to Daud.” She spoke, her voice hard and unkind. Venetica stayed where she was, unwilling to approach the woman who looked at her with nothing but hatred.

 

“Where’s Thomas?” She asked, and Billie heaved a sigh.

 

“Daud sent him on a mission. From what I understood, it was a very important one. He sent me in his place.”

 

There was something about this young woman that Venetica didn’t trust. Maybe it was the hatred and the distaste for her that she didn’t bother to hide. Or maybe it was the thinly veiled irritation that Daud _tried_ to hide whenever he was around her. Either way, she was still loathe to approach her. And she _especially_ did not want to Blink with her.

 

She wanted Thomas. And for a moment, she had to restrain herself from childishly stamping her foot and demanding for him.

 

Billie’s lips curled into a sneer. “Look, I don’t want to travel with you either, Princess, but Daud sent me because Thomas couldn’t come. So we’re stuck with each other. If you don’t want to come, I’ll let Daud know. But if you do, hurry up and come on – I don’t have all night!”

 

For a moment, Venetica was tempted to turn around and head up to the palace, but something stopped her. She didn’t like this young woman having the freedom to make up a reason as to why she wouldn’t allow her to escort her to Daud. And something told her that this Billie Lurk would make up the biggest lie ever, to suit her own needs. Now, whether Daud believed her or not, was up for discussion, but Venetica found herself unwilling to risk it.

 

“Well let’s hurry up then, shall we?” Venetica asked as she made her way towards her. “The quicker we are, the quicker we’ll be done with each other.”

Billie didn’t answer her, and didn’t take her in her arms like Thomas did whenever they were ready to leave. She instead, grasped her wrist and without a word of warning, Blinked. They ended up on the roof of a house about a mile away, and the shocking, jarring aspect of Blinking without warning, caused Venetica to gasp out for breath as she stumbled forward a few paces. She liked to think, under Thomas’ warnings and gentle tutelage, that she was growing used to the uncomfortable process of Blinking. However, the suddenness and jarring of Billie’s Blinking told her that she was far from being used to it.

 

 Billie’s ironclad grip on her arm, though, kept her from stumbling off the roof. They were almost right on the edge.

 

“You know what I find absolutely . . . _hilarious_ , about our situation?” Billie asked, with far more cheerfulness than Venetica ever would have expected. The amount chilled her, in fact, and she had barely gasped out, “What?” before Billie yanked her into another Blink. They ended up on another rooftop another mile away, closer to the edge from before. Venetica stumbled again, but not as badly as the last time. Billie’s words rang in her head.

 

“That right now, if I chose to . . .”

 

They Blinked again, and this time, Venetica found herself balancing rather precariously on the wrought iron railing of a balcony. She gasped and pin wheeled her arms but did not fall or stumble off it. Her heart thudded madly in her chest, and her eyes widened with fear. What was _wrong_ with this woman?

 

Billie turned her hard, cold eyes onto her. “I could kill you, and there would be nothing you could do about it.”

 

The words chilled her and sent a bolt of terror straight down her spine. “D-Daud --”

 

“The excuse would be a good one,” Billie spoke, interrupting her as if she hadn’t even spoken. Her eyes were cast ahead, alight with a mad gleam. “You’re fairly new to Blinking. I could tell him that, despite my warning, you lost your balance and tumbled off the side of a building when I stopped to rest.”

 

“He wouldn’t believe you!” Venetica spat out as she slowly began finding her balance, and Billie’s eyes flashed again, albeit with a darker gleam this time.

 

“Your right . . .” She murmured before yanking her into another Blink. This time, when they landed, it was on a more stable, larger platform. They were close to the Whaler base, Venetica knew, for she could smell it on the wind, but they still had some ways to go yet. Gasping, terror pulsing through her veins, Billie released her, and Venetica collapsed to her knees to the gabled rooftop. She was shaking, never before wanting Thomas or Daud so much in her life.

 

“Guess I’ll have to find another way to get rid of you, then.”  

                                                                

* * *

 

“Good evening again, Lady Venetica.” Thomas spoke, rather cordially, and with a slight bow as she stepped into Daud’s study, only to find it eerily empty. Her and Billie had arrived at the Whaler base mere minutes before, and she had left the young woman’s presence as quickly as she could without showing her and the other’s that Billie had shaken her. They had, though. Terribly. At that moment, her heart constricted in her chest, and even as she tried to appear as if Billie’s words hadn’t unnerved her, she knew it was useless. They had, and it would never be more evident.

 

“Venetica, are you alright?” Thomas asked her, his brows furrowed in concern.  It was an emotion also shown by his eyes, and she felt the sharp build-up of tears as he gently wrapped his hand around her upper arm and took a step towards her.

 

Despite that, though, she still tried to quieten the frantic beating of her heart while she still could, knowing full well that Daud would definitely take notice. Daud was much too observant around her to _not_ notice when something was amiss – especially if it was something like this. And if he pressed (like she knew he would) she knew she wouldn’t be able to lie or keep what had happened, from him. He was much too intelligent for such childish manipulations as bad lying, and she didn’t want to know what he would do if he learned how Billie had threatened her on two occasions now, with death.

           

“I’m fine, Thomas,” She spoke, shrugging off his hand. “W-where is he?” She asked with a hard swallow. Thomas’ look of concern did not disappear, however, he did give a nod towards the winding staircase located on the other side of the room. Her heart calmed slightly but did not, by any means, cease its incessant pounding.

           

“He’s been in his quarters ever since he arrived back from his earlier meeting. It’s been . . . it’s been a stressful day, Venetica, and we’ve all been rattled. He won’t let any of us see him, either, but _you_ . . . he’ll let _you_ see him, I’m sure of it!”

           

“No doubt Billie would be absolutely _thrilled_ about that!” She muttered, a little more caustically than she had intended, and while Thomas didn’t say anything in reply, she did see a small, amused smile appear on his face at the words, nonetheless. He nodded again.

           

“Indeed. Go on up. I doubt he has his door locked, and he’ll know it’s you, so don’t be worried about taking him unawares.” Venetica smiled and nodded.

           

“Thank you, Thomas.”

           

Thomas nodded. “Don’t mention it, Venetica. Have a nice night.”

           

She nodded and the echoed the sentiment before opening the doors and moving towards the rickety staircase. Slowly climbing them, she reached the top landing and gazed upon the broad expanse of Daud’s scarred back as he stood on the balcony across from her. He was leaning on the marble wall in front of him, shirtless and clad only in black breeches and matching leather boots. The stopper was lying on the table next to its glass carafe, and she knew he had been drinking. How heavily, she did not know, but all the same, she knew she should still be careful – should still tread lightly. She hadn’t been around him while he had been drinking yet, and didn’t know what kind of drunk he could be. Quite frankly, as stoic and calm as he was sober, she wouldn’t be surprised if Daud was an angry, violent drunk.

           

“How was the meeting?” She asked hesitantly, her voice sounding so strange bouncing off the empty stone walls of his bedchamber. She saw the muscles in his back tense as he stiffened slightly at her words before moving to gaze at her over his shoulder. His face was expressionless and his eyes were blank – almost hard and angry at the topic daring to be broached. However, they softened when they fell onto her. He took in her simple nightgown and the dressing robe that covered it – both of which outlined the shape of her, rather beautifully, and was unabashed in taking a moment to look her over. She shifted beneath that gaze – knowing for a moment that he was mentally undressing her – before, eventually, he gave an indifferent shrug. He returned his gaze out onto the swampy district that surrounded the Whaler base, the look of softness disappearing, only to be replaced with the hard expressionlessness that had been there earlier. He took a sip from the tumbler of Morlish bourbon in his hand.

           

“It went well.”

           

“Then why did Thomas tell me you had shut yourself up in here since you got back? Why did he tell me you refused to see anyone?”

           

She saw his lips threaten to turn upwards into a smile, but also saw him refrain from doing so. “I’ve been extended a contract. I needed time to think about it before giving the client my final answer. That’s all.”

           

He refrained from mentioning his meeting with the Outsider, nor the dead, marked body of her miscarried son that still lay in a cabinet downstairs.

           

She recoiled slightly, her uncomfortableness clear. “An . . . an assassination contract?” She asked, and Daud nodded.

           

“What other kind of contract would it be? I’m the infamous Knife of Dunwall, Venetica -- assassinating people is what I do for a living. Recent events, though . . . make it easier for things to be passed off as accidents, so we’ve been quite busy, and business has been quite booming. Makes my job a little harder but also makes them assuaging their own consciences a little bit easier. In other words: hard times are good for business.”

           

Venetica nodded and slowly moved to join him on the balcony. Eventually, she took the place beside him, and together, they gazed out at the scenery stretching out before them. After a silent moment had gone by, she gently pried the tumbler of bourbon out of his hand and he watched, impassively, as she took a sip. Wincing at it went down, he gave a small smile as she then hugged it protectively against her chest instead of offering it back to him. It was obvious she had never had anything stronger than Tyvian Red and expensive Gristol scotch, and he had to admit . . . it was a little sexy watching her choke down his cheap, rough bourbon like she was a pro.

           

“Do you always do this after you get offered a contract? Cloistering yourself away from everybody else so that you can further think on it, I mean?”

           

Daud gazed at her for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Almost never. But I rarely receive contracts as important and life altering as this one is,” He shifted to lean on his side facing her then, where he cupped her hip. His hand was so big in comparison to her, that her hip settled comfortably in the palm of his hand. “This contract is a big one, Venetica, but . . . it’s also extremely dangerous. There is a very high chance that I could fail. There is a very high chance that I could die. There is a _very_ high chance that I will never see you again, even though I will do everything in my power _to_ come back to you!”

           

Venetica swallowed hard at that, and his face remained stoic as he continued to gaze at her. “If I take this contract, Venetica – which I am very much inclined to do considering how high of a price I have been offered for it – it’ll happen in roughly a month. Intel needs to be gathered, entrance and escape points need to be marked – the finer points hammered out. After that month, the entirety of Dunwall is _going_ to change. When I leave to commit this contract, I . . .” He trailed off for a moment, thinking on how best to put what he wanted to put. When he spoke, his voice was hesitant. “I want you to come here and stay with me.”

           

Venetica’s eyes widened. “You mean . . . you want me to come here and _live_ with you?”

           

Daud heaved a sigh. “This . . . Venetica, I cannot overstate the implications of this assassination being successful. There will be changes in Dunwall and most probably rampant chaos _will_ ensue. Here, I _know_ you’ll be safe – here, I _know_ I can protect you! I might not be able to do that if you reside with your father on John Clavering and I _definitely_ know I won’t if you continue to reside in the palace afterwards!”

           

Venetica bit down on her bottom lip, her heart thumping harder than Billie could ever have made it thump with her cruel words and psychotic deeds. His face was still expressionless as he gazed down at her, but his eyes . . . his eyes begged and pleaded with her to say yes.

 

“It . . . the implications will be that massive?” She asked, her voice failing her for a moment, and Daud nodded. A slightly mournful look appeared in his eyes at that moment, as well, taking the place of the begging and the pleading.

           

“It has the potential to be momentous.”

           

Venetica swallowed hard then. Why, when everyone gave her a life changing decision, did they expect her to be able to answer them on the spot? Why was that happening to her? Just _once_ would she like to be able to think something over for a few days before giving an answer – just _once_!

           

But then considering that the one time she _did_ have time to think on something, she ended up making the wrong decision, maybe she _did_ need to be asked to make decisions on the spur-of-the-moment.

 

“I . . . I have my father in the city, Daud. He’s my only family left, and if this will be as momentous an event as you say it will be, then I . . . I cannot leave him to fend for himself! I cannot allow him to _worry_ for me if this happens and I am not there with him! I . . . I just can’t!” She told him, and Daud slowly nodded.

 

“Dr. Galvani’s your father, that’s right. I had almost forgotten . . .” He stood there and thought for a minute before speaking again, his voice thoughtful and cautious. “If you wish, something can be arranged for him. My contacts outside the city are numerous and very trustworthy – collected over a very long, careful career. I can easily pull some strings and get him out of the city before this contract is completed. Granted, it probably won’t be by force – it’ll have to be something simple so he doesn’t suspect something. Something to research or a task to complete for the Academy that will keep him gone for however long the fallout rains . . .”

 

Her eyes widened and she recoiled slightly. “You-You’d do that?” She asked, and Daud’s eyes softened again.

 

“I’d do that for _you_ , Venetica. No one else in the world means as much to me as you do. And besides . . .” His face turned grave then. “I’d do anything to get you to stay here with me after the proverbial shit hits the fan. That’s how concerned I am for your safety in this.”

 

Venetica felt herself flush, finding herself once again the recipient of a very kind deed that he in no way was under any obligation to do for her. He was doing this out of the kindness of his own heart – out of the affection she liked to think he held for her, and which he had all but just confessed to having. At that moment, as her heart warmed, she didn’t care about what Billie had said to her – about the way she had threatened her so cruelly. At that moment, with that soft expression on his face as he gazed down at her, Venetica felt untouchable. She had managed to garner the affections of the powerful Knife of Dunwall – the proverbial _boogeyman_ of Dunwall. _Nothing_ could hurt her with him standing behind her – nothing would _dare_ touch her in fear of garnering his fearsome wrath.

 

Her face broke out into a grin that immediately warmed his heart, and he didn’t stop her when she fell against him. Her lips met his in a thankful kiss. His arms wrapped around her waist to keep her against him as he fell back against the balcony wall. His mouth opened to her and she marveled for a moment at how much more passionate and gentle this was than what she had expected it to be. _Daud_ was much more gentle and passionate than she had expected him to be.

 

After a moment, his hands moved upwards to cup her face as his lips pressed against hers in a returned kiss. Was he doing this on purpose? Or was this how he kissed the women he wanted? Venetica felt a twinge of jealousy in her heart as she thought about the other women he had kissed in his life. Did Billie once number among them – was _that_ why the woman hated her so? Because Venetica now had the affections that Billie had once possessed and which had been so swiftly taken away from her?

 

Daud’s hands pulling her a little tighter against him as his kiss became more eager, distracting her from her poisonous thoughts, and which once again submerged her into more pleasant ones. He was so much older than she was – so much more experienced than she was in bed. The knowledge sent a thrill of nervous excitement racing throughout her body.

 

What if she wasn’t good enough for him?

 

When he finally pulled away, Venetica blinked rapidly and took a slow, measured breath. He gently pried the tumbler of bourbon she had been holding, out of her hand, and placed it on the balcony wall. Miraculously, she had not managed to spill a drop when she fell against him, and the tumbler was still halfway full. He placed a hand on Venetica’s waist and she placed her hands on his neck in turn, where she pulled him down into another deep kiss.

 

And that was all it took.

 

She’d spent hours since that moment the previous day, wondering what it would be like to kiss him again -- to feel his hands on her body; what those long, callused fingers of his would feel like pushing into her flesh like hot, claiming brands. His scent -- all fire, all sage, all warmth and the spiciness of his aftershave – filled her nose and made her dizzy. His taste -- Outsider above, his taste! It was like Morlish bourbon, and mint, and that sugary tea he drank. He was indulgence, pure indulgence, like chocolate, and champagne, and silk sheets.

 

Daud made a noise in his chest, a low sound of pleasure. It was like a distant roll of thunder. Or the growl of a wild animal barely tamed and ready to lash out; a sound reminding her of the primal, exotic land of his mother – of Pandyssia. His teeth caught her lower lip, nibbling with a shock of sensation that went straight through her body. Her fingers and toes tingled. Her lower body clenched in reaction, sparking a different set of feelings in her entirely.

 

He released her, and his breath gusted out against her swollen lips for one trembling moment. Then he kissed her again, as if he couldn’t bear to stop -- not that she wanted him to. Her arms tightened around his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him down against her. His hands gripped her waist through the thin clothe of her nightgown and dressing robe, thumbs digging in as he pushed her back against the balcony door. Her back arched, bringing their pelvises together with a rough press that seemed to affect him just as much as it affected her. That groan came tumbling out of him again, and this time she drank it down, opening her mouth and flicking her tongue against his lips.

 

The kiss deepened as he opened to her -- his tongue sliding along hers. His head moved, angling to the side as he darted his tongue into her mouth with an almost lazy precision. It made her think of all of the wonderful things he was probably capable of doing with that tongue.

 

The very thought was almost enough to undo her.

 

She trembled against him, feeling warm and wet as Daud stepped even closer to her. Her breasts flattened against his chest, her ass pressing back into the door. He pulled the dressing robe down her shoulders after untying the belt, causing it to pool around her feet, leaving her in just her thin nightgown. Daud’s clever hands spread up her ribcage and then back down to her hips, squeezing as he pushed his pelvis against hers.

 

Her pulse was racing. She could hear her heartbeat thumping the blood through her ears. Every touch was like a static shock, zapping along her nerves until she was practically squirming in his arms. And still she kissed him, couldn’t stop. _Wouldn’t_ stop.

 

Eventually they came up for air again, the both of them panting as if they’d run up a mountain. But it did feel that way -- like they’d been climbing to this pinnacle for months now. She wanted to see what was on the other side. She wanted to jump off with him, and only him.

 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you again so badly . . .” He breathed, his forehead against hers, his hands heavy on her hips. “I dreamed about it. It’s was all I could do when you first walked up, not to just grab you!”

 

“I feel the same.” She agreed, firmly, as she grasped his shoulders and pulled him down and against her again. He caught himself on the door, his mouth slamming into hers, forcing her head to tilt back.

 

Little sparks popped along her nerves, and the air between them -- what little there was -- felt like it was charging up for a storm, and the feeling seemed to swell within her, centering between her legs. She was getting wetter with each kiss; the ache there became insistent -- demanding.

 

“I want to start over. I want to do this right . . .” She mumbled between deep kisses and then flushed at the desperation in her voice. She didn’t want another night like the ones she had with Corvo – where the sex almost became mechanical. Where it became something they did because they felt it was their duty – what was required of them. She wanted one filled with passion. She wanted one with Daud.

 

“You sure?” He asked as he slid one hand up her thigh – gathering up her nightgown in preparation to pull it over her head.

 

“Yes . . .” She breathed, her heart stopping for a moment as she nodded.

 

A little smile hit Daud’s mouth. “Then stay the night with me, Venetica. The _whole_ night.”

 

She didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

 

And there it was. Unplanned -- at least on her part -- and totally out of the blue, but it was everything she wanted. Maybe she hadn’t consciously known it until then. Maybe she’d been confused with Corvo, but a part of her hadn’t been. A part of her had gladly fallen into Daud’s arms because he was everything she’d ever needed. Everything her heart had been longing for.

 

Daud kissed her again, softly, his lips barely touching hers. It was like electricity, his touch. Every inch of her body yearned toward his, even as he finished gathering up her nightgown and pulled it over her head. The white cloth joined her dressing gown on the floor, exposing the firm peaks of her breasts.

 

She released a shuddering breath as Daud pushed his face into her neck. His mouth dragged along her skin, from ear to shoulder, his tongue darting along her pulse point. Her eyes closed and her teeth dug into her lower lip so hard she felt pain.

 

Daud pulled her away from the door, biting down on her neck, shocking a gasp out of her that turned into a moan. Her head went back, her fingers clutching at him as goosebumps exploded down her side. Her nipples ached, throbbing in the air between them. She didn’t miss the barrier of clothing that covered her, not when Daud wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up off of her feet with an effortlessness that was exhilarating. She wrapped her legs around him as he buried his face between her breasts.

 

He moaned, dragging kisses across her breasts and then gathering the peak of her left nipple into his mouth. He sucked hard, making her writhe in his arms, tremors of pleasure quaking through her.

 

“Daud . . .!”

 

He let go of her breast and she quickly claimed his mouth, pulling his face to hers with a hot, hard kiss that made a moan go through the both of them. Daud pushed away from the door and moved them further into the bedroom.

 

He sank down onto the bed with her, his body covering hers. Slowly, they finished undressing one another. She loved every inch of him. Her hands smoothed over his shoulders, and then down his chest, feeling each movement of his muscles, the heat of him scorching her.

 

Daud’s mouth was everywhere, worshiping her with long flicks of his tongue, soft nibbles, deep sucking pulls that had her gasping and writhing in his arms.

 

He kicked his legs free of his breeches after toeing off his boots, and she grasped him by the hips, pulling him down against her. His mouth found hers, and his tongue slowly rolled against hers. Her hand found his cock, velvety and soft. She stroked him from balls to tip, rubbing her thumb across the tip of him, smearing his pre-cum as he hardened for her. She squeezed him, and he broke away from her mouth, panting in time to each lazy jerk of her hand.

 

Daud shifted to the side, holding himself up on one elbow as he trailed his hand down her middle. She squirmed in anticipation, knowing well what those long fingers of his were probably capable of. He parted her folds, sliding down her clit and then flirting with her opening. Teasing her. Drawing out the wetness just touching him had caused.

 

They gazed at one another as his fingers stroked her -- gently, reverently. Her hand squeezed him again, slow pumps that made his hips shift against her hand. His thumb circled her clit, pushing back the hood and pressing on the sensitive nerves there. She gasped, jerking her hips upward, her head going back into the bed.

 

“I love watching you like this, Venetica . . .” He whispered, and then sank two of his fingers into her warm, wet heat -- pressing upwards. Her mouth opened, her body tightening as she lifted off of the bed again. A ghost of a smile hit Daud’s mouth, but he was all concentration -- all dark intent. “Right there?”

 

“Y-yes . . .!” She managed, her muscles quivering. Daud’s fingers pressed deeper, harder, rubbing against her inner walls. Deep, insistent pleasure crashed over her in waves, too powerful to resist. She didn’t know how in the world he had learned this, but she wasn’t going to complain. Not when his thumb was rubbing her clit and his fingertips were slowly massaging her.

 

His eyes glittered in the dim light. She shivered on the bed beneath him, her hand slipping off of his cock, which twitched hotly against her inner thigh. She grasped the covers on the bed, her whole world narrowing to the hot wet friction of his hand between her legs.

 

His pulled his fingers out and spread them wetly across her, pinching her clit between them. Then he sank them back into her again. This time he wasn’t gentle. He pressed into her, right where she needed him to, curling his fingers and thrusting into her hard and fast.

 

“Oh _fuck_!” She moaned, digging her toes into the bed, bucking upward. She writhed and tried to twist away from him, away from the pleasure, but Daud pulled back, catching her hip with his other hand; keeping her pinned to the same place. There was no getting away, not that she really wanted to. He was _going_ to make her come. He was _going_ to make her call out his name. Her body tightened, hips rising of their own accord, her back bowing, head driving into the bed.

 

She didn’t say anything when she came – her words frozen in her throat like the air in her lungs. She couldn’t help it. Her whole body seemed to explode, clenching around his fingers, wetness flooding out of her, the shockwaves so powerful, they kept her from saying anything.

 

She came back to herself slowly, lying flat on the bed again. Daud had moved down, his tongue gently sliding through the thick wetness, probing her, pushing in deep with a lazy, blistering stroke, only to pull out and flick her clit, causing a white-hot lightning storm to ride along her nerves again.

 

Her hands found their way to his hair. She pushed her hands into the dark strands, trying to get her breath back. One of his hands smoothed up her stomach and squeezed her breast. She caught his hand and brought his fingers to her mouth. She could taste her orgasm on his skin, musky and sweet. She sucked his fingers in deep and he grunted, lifting his head to stare at her through the dark strands of his hair.

 

“I love the way you taste, sweetheart . . .” He murmured, and there was something about the deep timbre of his voice – so intimate and loving. His eyes burned with need -- a need she shared. She wanted more. Wanted him inside of her.

 

She tangled her hand in his hair and pulled him up along her body. He went eagerly, settling between her legs as she drew them up against his hips. Their mouths met and she tasted herself on his tongue -- his lips. She drew on his tongue, wanting more. So much more.

 

Daud’s cock twisted, pressing insistently against her, sliding against her with each tremor of his hips. She reached between them, grasping him again. He moaned into her mouth and then whispered against her wet lips: “You have no idea what you mean to me, Venetica . . .”

 

She didn’t reply, just kissed him harder and positioned his cock at her opening.

 

Daud thrust into her, hard and deep, knocking a gasp out of her. Her head went back, her brows screwed up, her mouth opened. He met her gaze as her nails dug into his hips, attempting to both push him back and pull him forward. He wasn’t exactly a small guy. So suddenly bolting into her like that, understandably, had a good chance of taking her by surprise when she had one as big as his.

 

But she was nevertheless conflicted. She didn’t know what she wanted more of.

 

“Venetica?”

 

“Outsider’s Eyes, Daud -- you’re so . . . fucking _deep_!” Was all she could manage, and the words -- so filthy in their rawness -- seemed to work on them both. A rash of heat spread down her chest, and Daud’s face grew equally as red.

 

“Too much?”

 

“I . . . I . . . yeah, too much,” She said, breathing shallowly. “Slower. I need slower, big guy . . .”

 

“Yeah,” He agreed, quietly, as he gently pulled out of her. He gripped his cock, pushing the underside along the swollen length of her slit, the rim of his head rubbing along her engorged clit. Her hips lifted, pushing upward even as she sank her head back down to the bed. “Sorry. Hot a little excited, is all . . .”

 

“You’re not the only one!” She managed, a breathless giggle leaving her. “But you’re not exactly a small guy, so lunging in like that . . . kinda took me by surprise!”

 

Venetica lifted a hand, touching his cheek. He looked down at her and she saw the heat in his gaze. A slow smile spread over her face, and she brought him down for a soft, slow kiss that rolled between them. Daud’s chest pressed against hers, her thighs tightening on his hips as she lifted her pelvis against him. He gripped his cock, pulling back just a fraction and then gently entered her again.

 

He sank in easily, just a few inches. A moan left her and Daud pulled back, bracing himself on his elbows on side of her head. “Is that . . .?”

 

“Yes . . . don’t stop!” Was all she could reply, her breathing still shallow as she ran hands along his ribs. Daud’s hips rocked against hers, rubbing against her in just the right way. She rocked with him, gently, the both of them barely moving. But it was enough. For the love of the Outsider, it was enough!

 

The air around them seemed close -- warm with their breath, redolent with the aroused scent of their bodies. Daud made little sounds in his throat with each gentle thrust into her. Her thighs stuck to his hips, sweat popping out on both of them, but neither of them seemed to care. She wanted to bathe in his sweat -- to lick every drop off him.

 

Daud seemed content to just gaze at her, biting his bottom lip as he braced himself above her. She gazed back, unable to look away from the gleam of his eyes -- the intensity located there. The lust. The _need_. He lifted a hand and brushed her cheek, but she caught it, bringing his thumb to her mouth. She sucked on his thumb, biting down when Daud changed the angle of his shallow thrusts, sending a gasp tumbling out of her.

 

She released his thumb and he pushed it against her lips, rubbing for a moment as her tongue darted out against it.

 

Daud let out a groan, and lowered himself down, kissing her hard, though his hips still moved at a steady, shallow pace that was sending pleasure curling through her body. Everything felt hot, and wet, and tight. Her nails dug into his hips, her mouth desperate against his.

 

His strong hand cupped her hip, lifting her into him. Her feet hooked together, hips rising and falling, meeting each of his thrusts with one of her own. Her breathing quickened, and a gasp left her when she felt her inner walls tightening around him with a series convulsing spasms.

 

“ _Fuck_!” He breathed against her mouth, moving his head to bury it in her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, gasping with each thrust, goosebumps rising along her neck as he pulled her flesh into his mouth.

 

The pleasure mounted until she was jerking upward into him, pulling him in deeper, and her eyes rolling back into her head. Daud pulled back and thrust into her faster, but just as shallowly as before, slamming his cock into her as he had his fingers. It was too much.

 

Her body bucked beneath his, her hips rising high and tight, her head digging back into the bed. She was sure she shouted his name -- maybe even screamed it – and that, chances were, the Whalers had probably heard them -- but it was all lost in a swirl of heat and intense, bone-deep pleasure. She tightened on him with a hard squeeze, followed by a warm, wet gush. He stilled, allowing her to shudder her way through her orgasm.

 

She opened her eyes after a moment, taking in a deep breath as her body slowly relaxed back into the bed. She’d practically wrapped herself around him like a snake. He didn’t seem to mind though. He had a soft look on his face -- of wonder, or excitement. Maybe he was just pleased with himself.

 

He should have been.

 

Though he was still inside of her, he seemed to be trying not to move. Sweat glistened on his skin. He lifted a hand and gently pushed her hair out of her face. She blinked at him sleepily, feeling boneless, drenched in lust. She wanted more. More of him. More of this . . . this _feeling_. Of rightness, and need, and . . . love?

 

“Why are you look at me like that?” She whispered, though she knew as well as she knew herself, just why.

 

“Because I love you, Venetica.” He answered, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. She lifted her head and kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks.

 

“Daud . . .”

 

His mouth found hers again, his kiss filled with a hunger she found herself matching. He pulled out of her, making her whimper, both from the loss of contact, and the sensitive twang of her nerves. Daud bit down on her lip again, then pulled back, giving her a sly grin, which did more to her than his mouth on her ever could.

 

He gathered her up against him, lifting her easily as he sat back on his heels. She draped across his body, her thighs shaking, her fingers grasping at him as he settled her on his lap. His cock poked at her and then slid along her sex, twitching at the nearness of her heat. She wanted him back inside of her. Wanted more, so badly, she couldn’t even begin to articulate it.

 

She rolled her hips back and forth, sliding along the length of his cock, coating him in her wetness. Daud made a sound against her throat, a harsh sound -- a needing sound. Smiling, she reached behind herself, grasped his cock, and tilted her hips back.

 

His hands gripped her hips, stilling her as he pulled his face back. Their gazes met.

 

Then she glided down his length, feeling every ridge and vein as he sank into her depths. She could tell by the look on his face what he needed. What he wanted. And she wanted to give it to him, the same way he had given it to her.

 

Her hips snapped back and forth, taking him in long strides, her feet digging into the bed for purchase.  He clasped her hips, her waist, her ass, moving with her. There was no time for slow. A sense of urgency filled her now -- eagerness and urgency.

 

She wanted to scream again. To taste his orgasm on her tongue the way he’d tasted hers.

 

Daud’s face pressed into her shoulder, sliding down to her breasts. He took one bouncing peak into his mouth, sucking on her nipple hard enough to send shivers pounding through her. He released her and caught her mouth with a wet kiss. Her fingers tugged at his hair, twisting up in it as her strokes quickened.

 

Daud gave a growl against her mouth, and she found herself being propelled backward, his weight pushing her down into the bed. His hips battered hers, driving her senses back toward the brink. Her nails dug into his shoulders, scratching furrows.

 

He thrust into her, hard and deep, the pleasure edged with pain. But she didn’t want him to stop. A shout filled her throat and came out in little screams, encouraging noises -- begging noises. Daud kissed her in between each one, until she couldn’t breathe, until the wet friction ignited the fire inside of her again, and she exploded around him with a bucking writhe that lifted her hips against his, taking in every inch of his cock.

 

Daud stroked into her clenching body and then let out a deep groan. He pulled back from her, pulling out of her body, only to come onto her inner thigh. His spine bent, his head falling to her breasts, his hair, no longer in it’s strict pomaded style against his head, now spilled all across her as he came.

 

Venetica tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Her whole body tingled from head to toe. Everything was wet and sticky, her thighs shaking and her whole body drenched in sweat, and sex, and Daud.

 

Daud’s hand left his cock and moved to grip her thigh. He was still breathing hard, bent over her, his hair hiding his face. She reached up a hand and touched his shoulder, and he immediately lifted his head, staring at her with a cautious smile on his lips.

 

“Was that . . . are you okay?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked, flexing her toes. She almost felt like she’d had her limbs blown off for a minute there. _Outsider_ , the man could fuck!

 

“I got a little rough there. Sorry.” He breathed out with a laugh, and she let out a laugh as well, as she tugged him up to her.

 

“I like a little rough. Remember?” She whispered, blushing, though she didn’t know why. He shook his head as he pressed a loving kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her. His chest heaved, exhaustion slowly took over his entire being. And Daud had never been happier.

 

“Never told me that.” He spoke, and she gave a shrug as she moved to curl up beside him. Her eyes closed.

 

“Don’t have to tell you everything about me, do I? That’s all the fun – discovering stuff like this out, for yourself.”

 

Daud couldn’t help but quietly agree with her. She continued to lay there afterwards and while Daud remained awake, Venetica drifted off to a deep sleep, that same contented smile on her face that she had been wearing earlier. Daud continued to gently stroke her hair as she slept. And when he finally fell asleep himself, he fell into a sleep so deep and satisfying, that it took him hours upon waking to realize that he didn’t once dream about the Outsider.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the wait -- hope this chapter makes up for it! :)
> 
> Also, a big thing has happened. I've put some thought in it, and I have decided to make this work part of a much bigger piece called "Dunwall City Stories". The first part is already uploaded, "Hounds Pit Pub", it's only one short chapter, so go on over and check it out. This piece is the second part, so the third should be updated right after this piece is finished (which might be a while; don't exactly have an end date in mind yet). I have a lot of ideas for this much larger work, and I hope you guys stayed tuned. :)

* * *

 

They awoke a couple hours later, their limbs lazy, and their bodies still feeling quite satiated from the events of the night. After lying there for a while in the still, silent darkness, quietly teasing each other over things totally inconsequential, he finally reached for her. She went willingly, and the thought made his heart warm just a little bit more.

 

Allowing him to pull into and against him, their mouths found each other’s in the gloom. Silently and sleepily, they made love again and again, until he felt completely emptied of his seed and she felt impossibly, wonderfully full of it.

 

They slipped away from each other sometime during the night, but managed to find each other again in the same stretch of time. When the morning light began to seep in through the foggy windows, Venetica’s eyes finally fluttered open. Nestled closely against him, she let the haze of sleep clear from her mind and her eyes. His leg was situated comfortably in-between hers, and an arm was curled possessively around her with his hand lightly cupping her breast. She felt his breath against the nape of her neck, and lay there for a moment, reveling in the feeling of peace and security she felt lying there with him. They were feelings she had never felt with Corvo, even when the marriage was good.

           

Eventually, she heard him draw in a deep breath before shifting slightly onto his back. His hand left her breast, and the heel rubbed at his eyes for a moment. She took his moment to flip over to face him, and when he saw her, he smiled.

           

“Good morning.” She spoke, and he chuckled.

           

“Good morning. You feel alright?”

           

Venetica nodded. “Better than I’ve felt in years? You?”

           

Daud’s smile grew a little bit. “Same. But in decades.”

           

Venetica smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips before swinging her legs over the side of the bed, where she stood. Gathering up one of the sheets, she wrapped it around her before moving out onto the balcony. The bright morning sun stung her eyes, but she held them closed until the stars faded from behind her closed lids. She felt Daud come up behind her, and the sheet shifted to accommodate them both, and it was then that she opened her eyes.

           

They stood there on the balcony for a moment, allowing the sun’s rays to wash over them and the cool breeze blowing through, to kiss their skin. She stood there against him with his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace, and wished to never leave his side.

           

“Daud, there was . . . something happened last night.” She felt him stiffen slightly from behind her, and clutched him close. “No! Nothing like that – you were perfect! It’s . . . it has something to do with Billie.”

           

He relaxed but only slightly. “Tell me.”

           

She told him everything that had happened between her and Billie the previous evening, from Billie’s immediate hostility in the garden, to her erratic Blinking, and her haunting threat. By the time she was done, Daud had stiffened again, and his anger rolled off him in waves. “Why didn’t you tell me this last night?”

           

“You had enough on your mind. And then we happened, and I . . . I forgot about it until now.”

           

Daud stayed silent then, for a long moment. It was so long, in fact, that when Venetica finally spoke, her voice was quiet and slightly tremulous. “You’re not mad, are you?”

           

He shook his head. “Not at you.” He answered, gruffly, and she nodded, tucking herself against him even more as they descended back into another long silence. When she broke it again this time, her voice was still quiet, but this time, cautious, too.

           

“I’ll have to leave soon . . .”

           

He nodded at her quiet words. “I know. I’ll take you back in a minute.”

           

“What?” She immediately asked, a grin appearing on her face. “No Thomas this time? No, someone else? Do I _actually_ get the _real_ Knife of Dunwall as an escort this time?” She teased, and could practically see the small smile she knew had briefly quirked his scarred features. “I feel so special!”

           

“Thomas is out on a scouting mission for me, and Billie . . .” His tone darkened, as well as did his expression, too. “I don’t trust Billie around you anymore after what we did last night – after what _she_ did! In fact, she’s quickly starting to lose my trust.”

           

She nodded in agreement but when she spoke, her tone suggested something entirely different. “You say it like it’s something we should be ashamed of . . .” She spoke, somewhat defensively, and Daud’s arms tightened around her slightly in reply. His embrace and his body were warm and soothing. The skin of his chest underneath her cheek and her hands, was still smooth and supple – the flesh of a man who had not yet lost the elasticity of his youth despite his age.

           

“I will _never_ be ashamed of what we did last night, Venetica! Quite the contrary, it’s a memory I’m going to revisit often when I’m alone. But all the same, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole damn city heard you last night, which would _include_ Billie. And with her jealousies, forgive me if I don’t relish the thought of her catching you alone.”

           

“Was I really that loud?” She asked, her voice small and questioning as a flame of heat speared upwards from her neck and bloomed across her cheeks. He chuckled in amusement.

           

“Let’s just say it made the egotistical man in me very smug, how’s that? I did a very good job, apparently.” He continued to smile as he moved to take a seat on the low stone wall. He pulled her to him and his lips found hers. They kissed for a moment – as sweetly and loving as that morning was to them – and when he broke apart, he cupped her cheek and allowed his fingers to tangle in her hair for a moment, where he held her close. “I made my lover scream my name not once, but _twice_ as she came! And then, Outsider only knows how many times afterwards until morning! That’d make any man feel ten-foot-tall and bullet proof for the rest of the day.”

           

She chuckled and leaned back in, her palm smoothing over his cheek as she pressed another lighter, but more lingering kiss, to his lips. “You also made me wake up feeling quite tender this morning, Mr. _Knife_ of Dunwall!” She murmured, and he let out a bark of a laugh before holding her close again.

           

“Yes, well, I can imagine! How many times did we make love again? I lost count.” He chuckled then, his tone gentler when he spoke. In fact, his whole demeanor seemed softer – gentler, now. A slight smile had found a constant home on his handsomely chiseled features now, and his eyes seemed happier and more contented than the usually cold, hard look they normally took on. Maybe it had been just that simple . . . maybe he had just needed to make love to a woman he cared about, for once. “Forgive me for that, though. I’ll try to be much gentler next time.”

           

She released a laugh and pressed a loving kiss to his lips before taking a few steps away from him. "Not _too_ gentle, I hope?" She asked, slyly, and Daud grinned and laughed. Holding on to her hands, he kept her from moving away too far.

           

"Fine. Not _too_ gentle!" He agreed, releasing her, and she grinned and nodded.

           

"Good! Now come on -- get a move on! I have to be back at the Palace soon unless we want alarms to be raised!" She spoke as she moved back into his quarters, the sheet no longer covering her nude frame. He silently ran his eyes over her for a moment before releasing a thoughtful hum right as she bent over to scoop her nightgown and robe from the floor.

           

"I don't think alarms will be raised. People will just assume you went with Corvo on his . . . _adventure_ to the other provinces."

           

Venetica shot him a look over her shoulder as she pulled on her nightgown. "How did you know of that?"

           

Daud smiled. "I told you, Venetica. I'm the Knife of Dunwall -- I know _everything_ that goes on in Dunwall. And the Royal Protector leaving to seek help from the other provinces about this rat plague, well . . ." He trailed off, and one of his brows arched. "It's on the tongue of every beggar, thief, and whore on every street corner. Hard not to take notice."

           

She shook her head. "I tried telling her it was unwise, to send him away. With him gone, her first and most effective safety net, is missing. What happens if something were to occur while he's gone?" She shook her head again without waiting for his answer. "I don't like it, Daud. I don't like it one bit."

           

They stood there in silence, Daud watching as she finished getting dressed before getting dressed himself. For a moment -- a _split_ moment -- Daud was thankful she had not waited for his answer to her last question. He didn't know how to tell her that _He_ was the event that was going to happen.

                                                                        

* * *

 

He returned her to the same spot in the lower gardens that Thomas did. It was a bright, beautiful day with the scent of the Wrenhaven and the garden flowers high on the breeze. They lingered in a secluded alcove for a moment, despite the tenseness in Daud's frame that suggested he was intensely uncomfortable with being in such a public place as the palace walls.

           

"Thomas will come for you tonight." He told her, and she nodded, although Daud did not miss the slightly crestfallen look that appeared on her face. He gave her a small smile, knowing that she wanted nothing more but for him to come fetch her for once. "Venetica, please understand that I do . . . _not_ like to make a habit of tempting Fate. And me being here, in the palace walls, while it is crawling with guards, tempts Fate a little too much for my liking."

           

This _tempts Fate a little too much for your liking?_ A voice spoke in his head, steeped in amusement. It was a voice that sounded a little too much like the Outsider for his liking. _What about the deed you are soon to commit in that very marble gazebo in just a few months’ time?_ That _will not be you tempting your precious Fate a little too much?_

Daud closed his eyes and forced the voice from his head. Yes, it would be a massive tempting of Fate, what he would soon commit to doing. He didn't want to think about it anymore than he had to. Outsider only knew he had more than enough to do when he went back to headquarters.

           

Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her close. He pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss before they slowly withdrew. "I love you, Venetica." He murmured, and she smiled up at him. It was a smile of such happiness, that it made his heart ache to look upon it.

           

"I love you too, Daud. Now go, before your found out. I'll see you tonight."

           

Daud smiled and nodded. He pressed another, more lingering kiss to her lips before moving away from her. She blinked, and he was gone, hidden on top of a rooftop or a high fence. She stood there a moment longer, taking in deep the flowery scent that pervaded the garden, before moving towards the doors of the palace. Moving down the path, and then up towards the doors, she found a part of herself empty. She didn't know if it was because of Daud absent from her side, or the fact that she no longer considered the palace home, but . . .

           

But she had never found the palace home, right? The countless times Jessamine had offered her apartments in the palace, she had declined, preferring to live with her father at Galvani Manor. And even when she married Corvo and moved into the Royal Protector chambers, she still didn't feel at home. She loved Jessamine, but the Palace was too cold, too official. With her father, she had found warmth in her childhood home. With Daud and the Whalers, she found protection -- safety. Love.

           

She had entered the palace then, ignoring the looks of interest from passing maids and guards on why she was up and about wearing nothing more but a dressing robe. She was still deep in her thoughts as she made her way to the Royal Protector chambers, ruminating on the emptiness, and the . . . the sense of _dread_ she felt, as keenly as the dangerously sharp edge of a knife. Something bad was going to happen, she felt, and _soon_. She didn't know exactly what it was, just that it was _there_. She knew that the longer she remained there in the palace, the worse that sense grew. And what's more, she knew it would involve Daud. She hated thinking it, but all the same . . . there was only one thing dreadful that could encompass Daud, and she didn't want to think about what it was. She _couldn't_ think about what it was.

           

"Lady Attano! A . . . pleasure, I'm sure."

           

She came to an immediate stop when she was coolly addressed by a weaselly tone she would recognize anyway, her thoughts coming to a stop, as well. Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with the Royal Spymaster Hiram Burrows. She smiled, the smile coming out tight and forced.

           

"Royal Spymaster, of course! What a pleasure! And how are you this morning?"

           

He moved closer to her, one thin eyebrow raised in disdain as he looked down his rather large nose at her. His eyes skated over her figured clad in her dressing gown, and she damn near expected him to spit on her. As fine as the robe was, she still knew all he was thinking about, was how improper it was. And as she stood there, thinking about just how _spider-y_ he was, she found herself also wondering that it was no wonder that Waverly Boyle was his lover. After all, they fit each other so well! Both straight-laced, ultra-conservative beings filled with fear and hate.

           

"I am doing well this morning, Lady Attano, thank you for asking. I must say, though . . . interesting idea of apparel this morning." He spoke, and Venetica smiled.

           

"Forgive me, Lord Burrows, but I was just on my way to my rooms to change. I stayed with Jessamine in her chambers overnight, you see. She was feeling sick during the night, and I stayed with her to make sure the Royal Physician would be called, if needed."

           

Hiram Burrows released a low hum of disapproval at that as his long, spindly fingers worried at his cravat. "And if I were to . . . _consult_ with the Empress as to the vailidity of that statement, she would agree with you?"

           

A bolt, a mixture of anger, alarm, and fear, hit her lower spine and spread quickly throughout her body. She swallowed hard before allowing another forced smile to appear on her face. "Of course. Ask away."

           

There was an uncomfortable silence between them for a moment, before Hiram Burrows chuckled and took a few steps towards her. Smiling tightly -- almost smugly -- his voice lowered when he spoke next: "I have not tried to mask my intense dislike of you and your husband, Lady Attano, as well as your infuriating hold on the Empress. And while you might be protected now, know, that one day, Jessamine will no longer sit that throne. And when she is gone, you will find that you and your insufferable husband's protection, will be gone, as well."

           

"Is that a threat, Lord Burrows?" Venetica asked, a little more steel in her voice than she had thought there would be. She saw his brows rise in surprise at the steel too, and, this time, Venetica was the one who took a few steps close to him. Her eyes not leaving his for a moment, her tone lowered, as well. She didn't know where she was getting this new backbone from, but she had an intense feeling that it had something to do with how much time she had been spending with Daud and Thomas. "You are a very, _very_ foolish man if you think Jessamine is my only ring of protection in this world, Lord Burrows. In fact, I have someone else who protects me, someone even more fearsome than Jessamine would ever think to be. You keep that in mind, Lord Burrows. Before you do something foolish. Like make a _threat_ to the wrong person."

           

There was another, more uncomfortable silence that stretched between them, then. This one, however, was broken by the Royal Spymaster performing a stiff bow. "May you have a good day, Lady Attano." He spoke, dislike dripping from his tongue like venom, and Venetica replied with a nod of her head.

           

"You too, Lord Burrows. You too."

           

He resumed his regular ramrod-straight posture, and gave a sniff of distaste. "And know that I will, of course, be talking to the Empress about your . . . _excuse_." He spoke, and Venetica shot him a sweet smile.

           

"Of course, Lord Burrows. I wouldn't expect otherwise."

                                                                        

* * *

 

It was cool that night, out on the sea not far from the Wrenhaven delta. Thomas pulled his jacket tighter around his slim frame, and shivered. The rumbling of the boat's motor, vibrated beneath their feet. He glanced at Daud, once, twice, then three times, marveling at how the cold didn't seem to bother him, before his gaze darted down to the metallic box held beneath one arm tucked against his scarlet-coated side. He didn't speak, however. Daud had asked him, and only him, to accompany him on this mission. He felt both honored and afraid.

           

"How much farther, serah?" There were two men manning the boat they had reconnoitered for this mission, and it was the youngest, at the bow, who shouted these words. Without taking his eyes off of the setting sun on the far horizon, Daud answered him:

           

"Just a little bit farther."

           

Thomas glanced at him again. "How much farther, Daud?"

           

Daud heaved a sigh, and still, did not take his eyes off the horizon. "Deep enough to where He'll take notice."

           

Thomas nodded, unable to deny how uneasy those words made him feel inside. "You think he'll make an appearance?" He eventually asked, and he sensed Daud deep in thought for a moment.

           

"I doubt it, but maybe. If he does, though, it'll only be to me. He's . . . _picky_ , about who sees him."

           

"Fickle bastard." Thomas muttered, and was surprised to hear Daud chuckling.

           

"That he is, Thomas. That he is."

           

A couple more minutes’ past in silence before Daud snapped out for them to cut the motors -- that they were where they needed to be. Thomas felt his heart drop down into his stomach when a sudden silence pervaded around them upon the cutting of the motors. The boat came to a stop, as well, and the rocking of the sea added a sense of ominousness to the situation -- as if they were sitting precariously on the heaving, bucking back of a great beast. Thomas watched nervously as Daud stepped forward, the metal box clasped in-between his hands.

           

"Is this . . ." Thomas began, but then trailed off, not knowing what to say for a moment. Daud paused in his mission, listening to him, Thomas knew, but not with irritance. Interest, maybe? With Billie, it would have been irritance. With Thomas, though . . . with Thomas, it was always interest. "Is this . . . is this _right_? Daud, she doesn't _know_!"

           

Daud's lips thinned into a line, and he shook his head. "She will never know. She doesn't _need_ to know."

           

"Are you only saying that because you don't think she could handle the truth? Or are you only saying that because you don't even want to _try_ to explain it to her?"

           

There was complete and utter silence on the boat then except for the gentle splashing of the waves against the metallic sides of the rocking boat. Even the two men manning the vessel were silent, knowing better than to interfere with whatever it was these two men had paid had them an exorbitant amount of money to take them out here to do before nightfall. Thomas was silent, that trickle of nervousness now damn near a waterfall, going down his spine. He had never doubted whatever it was Daud wanted him to do. He followed him mainly on nothing but blind faith, like a good many of the Whalers did. But this . . . Thomas didn't know, it just felt _wrong_. Things had felt wrong, in fact, ever since he brought that thing back from Sokolov's.

           

"Thomas, I love her." Daud spoke, quietly, and Thomas nodded. Licking his lips, he took a step towards him.

           

"Aye, I know that. All your men know that. And we're happy that you love her -- that your finally happy! And I know your doing this because you want to save her the heartache, but this, I don't . . ." He shook his head and looked away, his face pained. "Daud, this feels _wrong_! Can't you feel it? The _wrongness_?"

           

Daud was silent for another moment, deep in thought, before he finally shook his head. "Thomas, she wouldn't understand. It's the Outsider -- _I_ barely understand, and I've been worshipping the being for decades! I've bore his mark since I was your age, and half of what He does remains a mystery to me even now." His shook his head again, weakly this time. "Thomas, I know your scared. I know you've stopped me now, not because you want to defy me, but because you love me -- you love _Venetica_. But _please_ , Thomas, you've trusted me this far -- had faith in everything I've done for the Whalers when no one else did. So please, continue to have faith in me _now_!"

           

It was Thomas' turn to be silent, and he was. His thoughts whirled in his head like a hurricane. He didn't know what to do. Half of him screamed at him to continue having faith in Daud ( _What are you_ doing _, Thomas? It's_ Daud _! Fucking_ trust him _you stupid_ fuck _!_ ) while the other half of him was scared shitless. He had never felt this much _wrongness_ before. It was almost overwhelming. It was almost sickening. And for a moment, he seriously thought he _was_ going to be sick.

           

Eventually, though, he swallowed hard and gave a nod. He didn't know if he would live to regret it, but he stepped forward to stand beside his leader and the only man he had ever looked at as a father. "Okay. Okay, Daud, I trust you. I have _faith_ in you."

           

The look Daud sent him was one of clear relief. "Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me, to hear you say that, Thomas."

           

Thomas nodded and rolled his head. "Yeah, well . . . I'm probably gonna die over this whole thing anyway, so . . ." He gave a shrug and a half-grin. "What the fuck ever. Everyone's gonna die eventually, right?"

           

Daud chuckled and shook his head. "You’re not gonna die, Thomas. Not for a long damn time. I promise you that."

           

Thomas released a scoffing laugh. "Don't make promises you can't keep, old man. Now come on, hurry up and toss that thing overboard. I have the creeps times ten, and the sooner we do this and get the fuck out of Dodge, the better!"

           

Daud nodded and swallowed hard before he looked down at the metal box he held in his hands. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't do it; that he would back down like Thomas had first asked him to. But then, suddenly, he reared back and threw the box with all his might, as hard as he could, towards the pitching and lurching sea spread out before them. It landed yards away with a deep "ploop", and was immediately swallowed. Thomas hadn't realized he had been holding his breath the entire time, until he was forced to release a long, low breath through his lips. They stood there, gazing out at the sea for a moment, as if waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, after damn near fifteen minutes of waiting, Daud turned around and gazed at one of the men.

           

"Take us back to Dunwall. We're done here."

           

Without asking a question as to what had just happened, the man nodded before shouting towards his mate near the motor. " _Oi_! Back to Dunwall!" His friend called back an affirmative before the loud, deep rumble of the boat's engine could be heard starting up again. The metal vibrated beneath their feet again, but it was no longer as soothing as it had once been. Slowly, the boat turned around and began heading back to port.

           

Eventually, Daud broke the silence that had fallen between them again. "Has that sense of wrongness dimished at all?"

           

Thomas thought for a minute before he shook his head. "No. But I don't think it's going to go away for a _long_ time."

           

Daud nodded. "I suspected as much. Which reminds me . . ." He turned his eyes onto him then. "When this shit goes down -- when we willingly sink Dunwall into chaos -- I have a special mission for you. And only you I trust with it."

           

Thomas nodded. "Of course, Daud." He spoke, that blind faith back in all it's glory. Yes, he would sink Dunwall into chaos, and yes, he knew he was doing it for an entirely selfish reason, but Thomas didn't even think to complain. His whole life, it was all just him walking on nothing but blind faith.

           

 _Shit_ , blind faith . . . Thomas wanted to laugh, but didn't -- didn't have the heart to after what he just witnessed Daud do. He knew, with every fiber of his being, that he would willingly throw himself into the fires of Hell for Daud -- into the Outsider's very void if the man so much as asked. He didn't think it was that hard of a thing to choose to do.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, guys, I am sooooooooo sorry for such a long wait! It was not my intention to keep this chapter for so long, but, believe it or not, I have not had internet in my apartment until about a month ago. Then, once I got it, I ended up going on vacation, work started piling up, blah, blah, blah. But I am back, and so is this chapter, and I promise you, I have absolutely NO intention of abandoning this story or this series. This series is too much like my baby. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm not too happy about this chapter. Not only is it one of the shortest chapters I've written for you guys, but I'm not really happy about any chapter that has Billie in it, because I still think I'm not writing her how exactly I think she needs to be written. But, I couldn't live with the guilt of not having updated this story in an age, so here is it. Hope it is satisfactory.
> 
> Story should pick up majorly next chapter, so stayed tuned, my lovelies!
> 
> -DaniStormborn

* * *

 

"Venetica!"

           

Venetica came to a stop when she heard the alarmed voice coming from behind her. Turning around, she saw Jessamine making a quick way over to her, brows furrowed in an expression she couldn't rightly decipher.

           

"Jessamine, what is it?" Venetica asked, alarm flickering through every fiber of her being. Her brows furrowed in concern as her voice lowered. "Is it word from Corvo?"

           

Jessamine's lips thinned, and she shook her head as she hooked a hand around her elbow and led her off to a little more secluded part of the corridor. "No, Corvo's fine. At least . . . I think he is. I haven't gotten word since he's departed. But that's not what I want to talk to you about." Turning to face her, she heaved a sigh. "I had a . . . very interesting conversation with Hiram this morning."

           

Venetica's face paled. She hadn't actually thought Hiram Burrows would consult Jessamine on her excuse. She thought that once she called him out, he would be sufficiently cowed enough to leave the matter well enough alone. Apparently, though, he could not be swayed enough to drop something once he had his mind set on it.

           

"Jessamine, I'm so sorry! I didn't think . . . please tell me you covered for me!"

           

Jessamine rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ I covered for you, Venetica! But that's beside the point! It was nevertheless a very awkward conversation! I didn't know what to say, in fear that you said something different and I would implicate you. And Hiram, he's . . . well, it's his job, ferreting out secrets, and he’s very good at it. And I don't know what you've done to anger him, but Venetica . . .Venetica, he's bound and determined to figure out where you've been going at night!"

           

Venetica shook her head, her own lips pursing. She ignored the bolt of fear that spread up her spine at her friend's words. "I think it's because he dislikes Corvo. And since he dislikes Corvo, he dislikes me purely by association."

           

Jessamine rolled her eyes again and shook her head. "Figures. That's _so_ like him! Prejudiced old goat!" She muttered bitterly as she turned her gaze away from her then. They lingered for a moment on an emerald green curtain, before turning it back onto her. "I'll cover for you whenever I can, but . . ." She shook her head again, her expression becoming one of apology. "If you get _caught_ , Venetica, I don't know if there would be anything I could do for you. And Hiram, he's . . . like I said, it's almost like he's _hellbent_ on finding out where you've been going every night."

           

Venetica nodded. "Thank you, Jessamine. I know you don't have to, but it means so much to me that you are. And I promise, I'm being careful. We both are."

           

Jessamine nodded, a weak smile on her face. She didn't ask who it was Venetica was seeing, and Venetica didn't volunteer the information. In fact, if Jessamine ever asked, Venetica had decided (rather painfully) that she would lie. She would lie and say it was Thomas, for it pained her to admit that she trusted not even Jessamine -- her best friend, and the closest she had to a sister -- with the information that it was Daud she was seeing.

           

"Don't mention it. After all . . . you did the same with Corvo and I. Why would I not finally return the favor?" She asked, and Venetica nodded, feeling a pang of love for her in her heart. She was right. All the nights when they were young and before Emily was born, when Jessamine would flee from her rooms to visit with Corvo, Venetica would cover for her the best she could. They were friends and sisters, why would she not?

           

"Thank you, Jessamine." Venetica spoke, her voice heavy with impending tears. "Thank you _so_ much!"

           

Jessamine returned the smile. "Don't mention it, Venetica. You love this man, I can see that. You deserved to be loved, especially after how I coerced you and Corvo into marrying. It's the least I could do, covering for you and him."

                                                                        

* * *

 

           

He understood he had things to do. Entrance and escape routes to plan, contingencies made out for. He had maps to study, maids to bribe, Whalers to line up (which were ready, which would stay here and guard headquarters; those that would act as reinforcements should they be needed). There were sources and rumors to be checked for authenticity. But her every touch seemed like fire scorching across his skin. The taste of her lips and her tongue caused his head to swim like he was floating high on the finest Serkonan opium. The warmth of her body seemed to chase away every ounce of ice that had once infected his very being. Venetica's love roared louder than every demon he had ever possessed -- her very _goodness_ chasing away every ounce of darkness the Outsider had placed inside him upon the gift of his mark branded into the flesh of his hand.

           

The bed seemed, simultaneously, to be much too small for them, and much too large. The sheets, all at once, too confining and too voluminous; too scalding and too cool on their fevered bodies. Their mouths fought for dominance neither was sure who would win; their limbs tangled together, and with the sheets, like tree roots anchored deep in the earth, until it felt like they would never be free. They didn't know how long they had been in bed together, and neither really cared. All they wanted at that moment, was themselves. Selfish beings they were, in their desire for each other. But as Daud saw it, they deserved to be selfish, at least for a little while.

           

He hadn't remembered being this way since he was young -- Thomas' age at the very least. He could barely remember the last time lust and love had fought for complete dominance of his body. Since it had wrestled his sanity for total control.

           

Eventually, they ceased their strenuous activities, too exhausted to continue, and they slept. They slept curled around each other, silently, restfully, while the sweetest of dreams danced through their heads. When they awoke, they didn't know what time it was, but the rosy fingers of dawn were just beginning to poke up over the horizon, staining the sky a lovely, golden pink.

            Breakfast had been laid out for them downstairs in his study. Coffee, tea, and other items. Daud smiled when he saw this, and reminded himself to thank Thomas later. Both for the food, and to apologize for whatever he might have seen in his quest to deliver them sustenance.

           

"I'm sorry, but were you in the middle of something when I arrived?"

           

Daud glanced up at Venetica when she spoke, her brows furrowed delicately in apology as she took in the veritable mountains of papers stacked upon his desk. Recon, for this upcoming assassination, which he would have to get to soon if he wanted the mission to be a success. He smiled as he poured them both coffee.

           

"Yes and no. I've always been bad with procrastination. You just made it easier to say no." He teased, and she sent him a reprimanding look as she took a seat at the desk laden with breakfast food.

           

"That's a bad thing, though!" She spoke, and Daud chuckled as he handed her a cup of coffee while bending over and pressing a loving kiss to her forehead.

           

"You’re never a bad thing, Venetica."

           

"But I'm keeping you from doing your work!" She protested, words he could not help but reply to with an amused look.

           

"Which is killing people, might I remind you. One would think you'd _want_ me to procrastinate on that!" He added two sugars to his coffee before taking a sip, careful of how hot it was. Immediately, Venetica's face flamed scarlet.

           

"I don't think . . . I mean . . . I don't _like_ what you do, but . . ." She trailed off after finding herself going nowhere, and Daud chuckled again. He gently blew on his coffee before taking another sip, finding this one easier to get down.

           

"You know I'm just teasing you, sweetheart." He told her, quietly, and she nodded as she grabbed up a piece of bacon. Nibbling on it, they fell into silence for a moment as Daud grabbed one of the pieces of paper off one of the paper mountains and began to read. After a moment, she broke the silence.

           

"So . . . what's this assassination about?"

           

Daud froze at the question, his body language stiffening. Eventually, he coughed and looked up at her, his expression carefully schooled. "I . . . I can't really tell you. If I did, you could be labeled culpable and I don't . . . want to do that."

           

Venetica nodded. "Corvo was the same way. Never wanted to tell me any of the big juicy secrets."

           

Daud sent her a wan smile. "It's not that I don't _want_ to tell you, sweetheart. It's just --"

           

"If you did, you'd have to kill me?" She asked, teasing him slightly. Her words also interrupted him, and one of her brows rose. His wan smile turned into one of admonishment.

           

"Of course not! I'd just have to kidnap you and whisk you away here sooner than I anticipated."

           

Venetica's eyes narrowed. "That bad, huh?"

           

Daud heaved a sigh. "I told you the night before yesterday that it would be bad. I wasn't lying to you then, and I'm not lying to you now." Venetica gave a nod, uncertain in it's intent, and Daud soothed her by giving her a smile and reaching across the table to take her hand. "Hey . . . I need to do this Venetica, okay? The price for this hit, it's . . . well let's just say that I could retire off this hit. I could retire and give you the world, because you deserve the world. And when we're done seeing all the rest of Gristol, and then Tyvia and Morley that we want to see, we'll settle down in Serkonos. I'm thinking outside of Cullero. The last I remembered, there was a nice little wine and fishing village outside the city. We could have a nice little vineyard, settle down . . . maybe have a few kids?"

           

Venetica remained quiet for a moment before swallowing hard to get past the lump that had been steadily building in her throat. Silently, she rose to her feet and moved over to him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he scooted away from the desk slightly so that she could take a seat in his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed a loving kiss to his lips. When they broke apart, she saw a flicker of uncertainty move through his eyes.

           

"That . . . sounds good to you?" He asked, and she smiled and nodded.

           

"That's sounds amazing, Daud. More amazing than anything I've heard in a while!"

           

Grinning, he smiled and kissed her again. "Good. Makes me glad. For a minute there, I thought --"

           

He was interrupted by one of the glass doors to his rooms suddenly being thrown open. Billie entered, a stormy look on her face that was matched with a tensing of Daud's jaw and a sudden angry glazing to his eyes. "What is it? Can't you see we're indisposed at the moment?"

           

Billie's jaw hardened, as well, as her hands appeared on her hips. "Can I talk to you?" She asked, and Daud's brows rose.

           

"Sure. Go ahead."

           

"In private?"

           

Daud gave a shrug. "Close the doors."

           

The look on Billie's face was damn near malicious at this point. "Fine. What's this I hear about you keeping me out of this latest assassination?"

           

Daud's teeth grit as he gently pushed Venetica off his lap. "Follow me." He growled, and Billie shot Venetica a triumphant look before following him upstairs and out onto the balcony, where he shut the doors. Twirling around to face her, he shot her a livid look.

           

"You couldn't have brought this up when you _knew_ she was gone?" He demanded, and Billie sent him an innocent look that made him want to snap her neck.

           

"Oh? You mean she doesn't know yet?"

          

  "No." Daud growled. "And she's not going to until the wheels are actually in motion. It's better this way."

           

Billie gave a slow nod, the sarcasm heavy in her voice. "Right. Okay, like that's fair. Anyway, why aren't I going?"

           

Daud heaved a sigh. "Billie, this is a _very_ delicate mission with huge consequences that are going to be set in motion afterwards. Dunwall is _going_ to change -- almost immediately be thrown into chaos. For the sake of the men, and for everyone we care about, I want to make the ripples of those consequences as miniscule as possible. So, I'm only going to be taking a few people; people I know I can --"

           

"Trust?" She finished for him, one of her brows raised. Daud's face immediately slipped into one of his patented Knife of Dunwall expressionless masks as his brows rose too.

           

"Exactly. Maybe if you weren't too busy fueling the flames of insurrection with some of the other men, I'd feel safe enough to take you with us."

           

Billie wisely kept her mouth shut at these words. “But Thomas told me he isn’t going either. And _Thomas_ not going, is very strange, indeed.” Billie asked, changing the subject, and Daud’s jaw hardened again.

           

“In a manner of speaking, he will be. Thomas has a very important mission he must accomplish parallel to ours. It’s just as dangerous, maybe even more-so.”

           

“Then send me with him.”     

           

“No.”

           

“But if it’s as important and dangerous as you say it is, Daud, he should have back-up. We always do on these kinds of missions. That back-up should be me. I’m not going to let Thomas get hurt.”

           

Another angry flash glazed Daud’s eyes. “Billie, _no_. You’ll go keep lookout while we’re gone like I first told you to, and be our back-up if they follow us too far into this district. And that’s my final word. Bring it up again, and I’ll leave you tied up in the Flooded District where the River Krusts and the Weepers can get you.”

           

It was Billie’s turn to harden her jaw. “ _Fine_. But when this goes down the drain, don’t you dare me I warned you. You foolish old man.” She spat before pushing past him, throwing open the doors, and marching down the stairs. Daud silently turned and moved over to the railing overlooking the quarters, saw Venetica pointedly avoid Billie as she angrily marched her way to the double doors, before calling out her name.

           

Billie came to an immediately stop and turned to look up at him. “Yes, Daud?”

           

He gave her a smile. “Threaten Venetica again, and I won’t leave you tied up in the Flooded district where the River Krusts and the Weepers can get to you. I’ll rip out your throat, instead, and while your drowning in your own blood, I’ll feed you your own intestines. Are we clear?”

          

Out of the corner of his eye, he was keenly aware of the look of wide-eyed shock on Venetica’s face, but he refused to break eye-contact with Billie. She had gone ashen at his words, evidence that, despite her insurrectionist views with some of the other men, she still feared him. Like an adult who still feared the boogeyman hiding in the dark. This made him smile. Good. Let her be afraid.

           

She _should_ be afraid.

           

She ended up not answering him. She simply resumed her fast pace to the double doors leading from his quarters. The pace wasn’t in anger, this time, but fear.

           

The knowledge made him smile.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another leap forward in time. Didn't want to, but it was inevitable. Something big happens this chapter -- hope you guys enjoy :)

* * *

 

_A few months later . . ._

 

The morning of the assassination was a dreary one. Thick clouds the color of gunmetal covered the sky, releasing occasional bouts of cold sprinkle onto the miserable people below. The waters of the Wrenhaven mirrored the color of the sky, and were choppy, with foaming whiteheads that had many a sailor cautious to go out. Daud remained silent the entire morning, his mind a blur. What could go wrong, what would they do if things _did_ go wrong – how fucking _deep_ they would have to go for a good long while after this deed was committed . . . it all plagued him, and made him silent.

 

Despite all that, though, Venetica remained at the forefront of his mind. She would have front row seats to this rather unceremonious execution. And even though he trusted Thomas with his life and hers, he still entertained doubts. A good assassin did until the contract was done and behind him. What would happen if Thomas didn’t reach her at _exactly_ the point he needed to? What if she was caught in the crossfire – what if --!

           

“Daud . . .it’s time.”

           

It was Thomas who spoke from behind him, his voice quiet and reverential. But _scared_ , though. Of what, Daud wasn’t entirely sure, just knew that the feeling was there. And really, he didn’t blame him. Deep down inside, Daud was scared too.

           

Scared shitless.

           

Drawing in a deep breath, Daud straightened and released it as he turned around to face his young protegee, pulling on his black leather gloves as he did so. His face the expressionless mask of the Knife of Dunwall, he nodded.

           

“Are the men in place?”

           

Thomas nodded. “And awaiting your orders. Are _you_ ready?”

           

Any other man, Daud would have answered with a reprimand t mind his own business. But this was Thomas. Thomas, as far as Daud was concerned, had the most important mission of all during this contact: secure Venetica’s safety and arrival back here at the Whaler base, despite the inevitable, massive chaos that was going to ensue.

         

After a moment, Daud nodded and glanced at him. The mask temporarily slipped. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Thomas.”

           

“Are you sure?” Thomas asked, hesitantly, not knowing if he would be reprimanded for asking such a thing. “It’s been a long while since you’ve taken a life, Daud.”

           

Daud gave a flippant shrug. “Killing is nothing, Thomas. You never forget how to take a life. You never forget how to pull a trigger. You _never_ forget what it looks like when the light leaves a dying man’s eyes.”

           

Thomas nodded. “Aye, that you don’t.”

           

Daud, seeming as tall and unmovable as the stone cliffs of Morley at that moment, moved forward towards the doors leading from his quarters. He paused beside Thomas, and his hand landed on his shoulder. His voice lowered, and once again, that mask slipped. “You bring her back here safe, you understand? Or don’t come back at all.”

           

Thomas nodded, his expression one of someone who has been gravely insulted. “Of course I will! You forget I love her too, Daud!”

           

Daud remained silent for a moment before he nodded. “Yes . . . of course I know that. I’m sorry, Thomas, forgive me. I forgot you indeed, love her too.”

           

It was Thomas’ turn to remain silent then. It was a silence he broke by tightly embracing the man he called mentor and father. Daud stood there, frozen for a moment, before returning the tight embrace.      

           

“I bring you my word I will return here with her safe and sound. I swear to you on the Outsider himself.”

           

Daud smiled as they broke apart. He clapped his hand on his shoulder, where it squeezed. “I know. I wouldn’t have entrusted her to you if I didn’t.” His hand left his shoulder, where he held it out to him. “Good journey, Thomas Rainer. And may I see you on the other side.”

           

The smile Thomas adopted then, was one of pride. He clamped Daud forearm with his hand, where they shook. “Good journey, Daud, Knife of Dunwall. And may I see you on the other side.”

                                                                                    

* * *

 

The day was not any brighter up at the palace. Venetica and Jessamine stood in the gazebo overlooking the Wrenhaven from the gardens, arms crossed tight against their chests to ward off the slight chill that the rain brought with it and which hung in the air around them. They remained largely silent, while beside her, Jessamine’s every fiber seemed to thrum.

           

Corvo was returning that day. After months of being away, he was finally returning to Dunwall. To Jessamine.

           

“I hope he’s had a safe journey.” Jessamine spoke, slightly breathlessly, and Venetica gave a hum of acknowledgement. She had a lot weighing on her mind, that day. Jessamine did too, but at the news that Corvo was returning to them, those worries were swept aside with the reassurance that her love would soon be back in her arms. Venetica’s worries were a little different.

           

Jessamine glanced at her friend, taking notice of her strangely silent demeanor and rigid body posture for the first time that day. Brows furrowing, she turned to her, where she lightly touched the tips of her fingers to her shoulder. “Venetica, are you alright?”

           

Venetica remained silent for a moment, before turning her gaze onto her friend. “Jessamine, I . . . I think I’m . . . _pregnant_.”

           

A look of utter joy appeared on Jessamine’s face then. Fully turning to face her, she grasped her friend’s shoulders with her hands and drew her close. “Oh Venetica, how _wonderful_!”

           

Venetica swallowed hard, and immediately, the look of joy disappeared from Jessamine’s face, as if someone had flipped a light switch. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Oh . . . _Oh_! Oh no . . .”

           

Venetica nodded. “This baby isn’t Corvo’s, Jessamine. You know this.”

           

“Is it His?” She asked, her voice lowering, and Venetica nodded. Since the months previous to their last meeting, when Jessamine warned her of the Spymaster’s snooping, the Empress of Dunwall had managed to wheedle more and more information out of Venetica over who her mysterious lover was. She had learned everything but what he did, and his name: the two things that could completely give him away.

           

Despite their friendship and the love shared between them, Venetica didn’t know if she could trust Jessamine with such information. The irony that she could trust Corvo, the husband she loathed with it, and not he woman she thought most like her sister, was not lost on her.

           

“Of course. Who else would it be?”

           

Jessamine’s hand lowered and rested gently on her stomach. “For how long?”

           

“Have I known?” Jessamine nodded. “Since three months ago.”

           

“Have you talked to Sokolov yet?”

           

Venetica shook her head. “No. I . . . did not know if it was wise.”

           

Jessamine nodded, looking unsure of herself. “I do not know if we could pass the child off as Corvo’s. He's been gone so long, and if anyone does the math and alerts the Abbey --”

           

Immediately, Venetica shook her head, interrupting her friend. Her expression was stony – her tone brooking no argument. “No. No, absolutely not. I _refuse_ to have Daud’s child be passed off at Corvo’s!” She spoke passionately, almost angrily, unheedful of the look that speared across Jessamine’s face at Daud’s name leaving her best friend’s lips.

           

“Wait, Venetica, who did you say? _Daud_?”

           

Panic speared through Venetica’s eyes. “What? No! I-I meant something else! Pay what I said no heed --!”

           

Jessamine shook her head and took a step back from her. “No, you said Daud. Venetica, are you --?”

           

“Momma! Momma, look who’s home!”

           

Closing her eyes, Venetica released a silent prayer that Emily decided to appear at just that moment, and with the news that she had. At the knowledge that Corvo was finally back, and walking up to them behind Emily, Jessamine seemed to completely forget what her and Venetica were talking about. A look of pure, unadulterated joy appeared on her face as she launched herself into Corvo’s arms. “Oh, thank the Heavens your back!” She spoke, and Corvo chuckled as he wrapped her in a tight hug. Venetica stiffened slightly, her hands moving to clasp in front of her. Corvo’s eyes landed on her, and the hardness there that swiftly replaced the happiness at being with Jessamine, was almost chilling.

           

“Venetica,”

           

She nodded. “Corvo.”

           

Jessamine parted from him, her face anxious. “What is it? What did they say? Will any of them help us?”

           

Corvo’s face was grave as he reached into his coat and brought out a letter. Handing it to her, Jessamine took it from him. Turning around, so that her back was to them, she tore it open and quickly read the contents. Venetica saw the utter look of hopelessness that washed across her face first, and she moved quickly to comfort her friend.  “Jessamine . . .”

           

“They are not going to help us. None of them! They are going to quarantine our ports until they receive word that the plague is over.” She put a hand to her head, where she shook it wearily. “Corvo, Venetica, what are we to do?”

           

“Momma? What’s going to happen?” Emily asked, her voice small, fearful, and tremulous, as she moved forward and wrapped her arms around her mother’s middle. Jessamine gazed down at her lovingly as she ran her fingers through her hair.

           

“All we can do, my darling. But most of all, we must have faith --!”

           

A sharp sound split the air, interrupting Jessamine mid-sentence, and a dull “thunk” as something buried itself into one of the marble pillars not far from Venetica’s arm. All four of them looked around at the pillar in alarm before Corvo’s face twisted into one of alarm and rage. “Shit! Jessamine, get _down_!”

           

Bewildered, Jessamine did as she was told, huddling down with Emily while more of these shots seemed to split through the air and rain down upon them from the nearby rooftop of the levee building. Heart pounding in her chest, Venetica stood there, frozen, her eyes wide. “Corvo, what is --!”

           

“You promised!” Corvo hissed as he moved towards her and took her arm in a tight, vice-like grip. She shook her head in utter bewilderment. “You _fucking_ promised that he would leave her alone!”

           

“Corvo, I don’t --!”

           

He cursed, and pushed her away from him towards Jessamine and Emily as three men seemed to materialize out of thin air. Wearing well-oiled leather armor and strange Whaler masks, they attacked Corvo with a fluidity and skill that had even Corvo’s mettle tested.

           

But wait . . . Whaler masks?

           

Venetica suddenly felt light-headed, her lungs suddenly strangely constricted. Jessamine grabbed ahold of her hand, where she squeezed it. Venetica barely returned it with a squeeze of her own. These were Daud’s assassins? Why would they be here, who would they be --?

           

And then with a finality that almost always came with the knowledge of impending death, she understood. Daud secretiveness with his current contract. His insistence that the city of Dunwall _would_ change, and drastically, after it was completed. The assurance that he was being paying a King’s ransom for this contract, and that it would ensure that they could run away together. His mark, was Jessamine. Daud had been contracted to _kill_ Jessamine.

           

“No . . . no, no, _no_!” She murmured, shaking her head, but everything was happening too quickly for her to stop. As it was inevitable that the three Whalers fell dead to Corvo’s blade, and three more took their places. Corvo raised his sword, ready to lunge at him, but he was enveloped in a green glow, which seemed to pick him up and pin him to the far pillar. The man that materialized next brought tears flooding to Venetica’s eyes. Wearing his blood red coat and Whaler mask, Venetica could nevertheless pick Daud out of a crowd anywhere. It was the way he held himself. Tall, and immovable like stone. He was gazing at her, she knew, could see the tears in her eyes as she shook her head.

           

“Daud . . . please. Don’t do this.” She whispered. She did not know the effect her voice or her tears had on him, for his mask hid his face from her. He heaved a sigh, though, as if what he was about to do would weigh very heavy on him. He slowly lowered the hand that had thrown Corvo against the pillar with that mysterious green glow enveloping him, and gestured to her.

          

 “Thomas . . . please. Take her.”

           

Venetica violently shook her head, her voice becoming panicked. “No, Daud, don’t! Don’t do this! Your better than this – don’t kill Jessamine – _don’t kill my sister_!” She screamed as Thomas’ strong arms wrapped around her middle and hoisted her to her feet. For a moment, fear filled Jessamine's face, and they tried desperately to hang onto each other. Their hands grew almost painfully tight as they gripped each other, before Thomas managed to break them apart. The act made Venetica feel as if something had snapped inside her. Something that she had cherished since she was a girl . . . something that she had thought would never break.

           

“Come on, Venetica, we need to get out of her.” Thomas murmured in her ear. “Guards are about to be swarming around this place like flies – we need to be a long way back to base when that happens.”

           

Venetica continued to shake her head, and kick and fight, tears streaming down her cheeks, as Thomas slowly edged her backwards. Daud turned away from her, withdrawing his blade as he did so. Venetica screamed for him not to as one of the Whalers stepped forward and gently yanked Emily free from her mother. The Princess and Venetica’s terrified screams melded together as Daud grasped Jessamine by the throat and hoisted her almost effortlessly in the air. He pinned her to the pillar like he had Corvo. Something was said, something Venetica could not hear but which dissolved Emily into sobs and childlike pleads for her mother's life.

           

With a coldness that frightened her, Daud slid his blade through Jessamine’s stomach like it was nothing more than butter. It was the last thing Venetica saw before Thomas managed to Blink them away.

           

On Daud’s hand, glaring at them through the tough leather, the Mark of the Outsider burned. And somewhere in the suffocating darkness before the sun finally greeted her again, and as the Empress of Dunwall lay dying at the feet of the Knife of Dunwall, Venetica heard a man’s dark laugh.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shortness of the chapter. Hopefully, the next one will be longer. Also, just as a warning, a major character death (two, actually, I think) will be coming up soon. It'll be AU -- definitely not the way the games and the DLCs went, but, aw well . . . you guys knew that, didn't you?

* * *

 

Venetica didn’t know when they finally made it back to the Whaler Base. She felt as if her mind had fractured since watching Daud kill Jessamine, and Thomas whisked her away to safety. Hell, she had felt something fracture inside her _upon_ watching Jessamine’s death. She felt as if something had been taken from her, and something had. Her greatest friend in the entire world, lay dead as of just a few short hours ago. Killed – _assassinated_ – by the man she loved . . . Venetica didn’t know how long she could hold on to the tenebrous strands of her sanity. And then there was her heart . . . it ached, keened for Jessamine. She felt like a small child bereft and lost in a world she no longer understood. Her friend was gone . . . slain, in cold blood . . . by the man she loved above no other.

 

When they reached Daud’s chambers, Venetica wrenched herself from Thomas’ arms, and he allowed her to go. Tears blurring her vision, she stumbled, met the side of Daud’s heavy desk, pinwheeled, and then fell to her knees to the floor, where she broke out into harsh, gut-wrenching sobs. Thomas made a move to join her but she screamed at him to stay back and to not dare touch her, and he heeded her wish. She could sense the uncertainty radiating off him in waves, and felt a singular needle of rage – white-hot in it’s intensity – worm itself into her heart. Did he know? Had he known? Why had he kept it from her?

 

And he called himself her friend.

 

He said he loved her.

 

A friend wouldn’t do such a thing to another.

 

“Why did you never tell me?” She finally asked, quietly, through gritted teeth, and Thomas stood there for a moment, uncertain of what to say before he fell on the simplest. The hurt truth.

 

“Because Daud told me not to.”

 

A silence fell between them then that was heavy. _So_ heavy. It frightened him, the heaviness of this silence. “How many other’s knew?”

 

A bolt of agony speared through Thomas’ heart. _Stop asking these questions!_ He silently begged her. _For the love of the Outsider – stop_!

 

But he couldn’t lie to her. Not in the wake of such massive, world-shattering hurt. “Not many. Just the ones he brought in as support. The ones he took with us, the ones that covered their retreat. I’d say a handful of men in all.”

 

There was another silence. Not as heavy as the last, but it still carried weight. Enough to still make him afraid. Eventually, she broke the silence, her voice remaining that same quiet, through-the-teeth tone it had carried previously.

 

“Get out.”

 

Thomas shook his head. “Venetica, I don’t --”

 

“GET OUT!”

 

The words were spoken on a shriek worthy of any banshee, as she jumped to her feet and whirled to face him. The expression on her face frightened him more than any silence. It was the lack of emotion located there. Except for the eye. Raw, seething anger, and broken-open, bleeding pain, were the other emotions in her eyes. And they were levelled at him.

 

“I said . . .  get. Out.” She spoke, her voice lowering to a venomous hiss, and Thomas was again met with indecision. Daud gave him orders to not leave her side, but this look in her eyes . . . the rage, the pain . . . he had no right to comfort her. He had no right to be with her _while_ she licked her wounds.

 

So, eventually, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll leave you alone. Until Daud gets back, okay? Then, if you need me to, I’ll be here.”

 

She didn’t answer him, just watched with those terrifying eyes as he backed to the doors and left, closing them securely behind him. He found himself hoping that when Daud got back, he had not only a plan for dealing with her, but also a very, _very_ good explanation. Venetica fucking deserved one, if you asked him.

                                                                        

* * *

  

Venetica didn’t know where she was going, just knew that she couldn’t stay _there_. She couldn’t be in the base, surrounded by men and women who were like Daud. Assassin for hire, who took lives without an inch of pity. She fled because, in her fractured mind, she couldn’t yet fully reconcile the fact that the man she loved had been the one to commit the deed that took her best friend’s life. She couldn’t bring herself to accept that the father of her unborn child, could have done that to her.

 

The doors leading to his quarters would be locked, she knew. Thomas would have made sure of it. But the hole in the wall . . . that lead out to the base . . . but that was such a long fall – how would she make it?

 

Approaching the hole, she stood on the ramp, hands gripping the broken sides of the wall, and looked down. Nothing but dirty, brackish water beneath her, and not enough to break her fall if she jumped. She didn’t think, anyway.

 

A man’s dark chuckle came from behind her, and she immediately turned to look for the owner, heart sinking, terrified that she would see Daud standing behind her. But there was no one. And as far as she was concerned, she could have just imagined the voice. It was probably just the wind, anyway. It was known to make weird noises as it moved through the twisting, broken lanes of the Flooded District.

 

“What do I do?” She murmured, gazing back down into the water, and that chuckle came again.

 

 _Jump_. It said. _And stretch out your hand._

 

Again, Venetica moved to look over her shoulder, her eyes doing a much more thorough job of searching the corners and the black shadows for any hint that she was not alone. When she was satisfied that she _was_ alone, she found herself wondering where the voice was coming from. Was it just the wind? Or was her fractured mind conjuring inanimate voices to torment her?

 

_Jump, Venetica, jump. Stretch out your hand and jump, and I swear to you, you will be fine._

 

“What is happening?” She moaned as he closed her eyes and rolled her head back. The voice was soothing, lilting. The voice of a lover. She took a few deep breaths and released them, before holding out her hand. It was shaking, she knew, just as her mind, and her faith, and everything else about her, was shaking. But the voice, so soothing and lilting, promised her she would be okay. She felt like she could trust the voice. So she did. Stretching out her trembling hand, she stepped off the ledge and fell to the brackish waters below. Her breath stolen from her, she could not scream, and as she cannonballed to the water, that dark, amused chuckle came again in her head. There was a weird feeling in which she felt her entire body was being shrunken down and compressed, before everything went black.

                                                         

* * *

 

Billie could hardly believe her eyes, what she had just witnessed.

 

Venetica, falling from the opening in the side of Daud’s quarters – the opening they used when they needed to get to him quickly, or to leave his presence quickly – and disappearing into thin air seconds before the hit the water. An impact, that, if not would have killed her, certainly would have broken every bone in her body.

 

But no. She simply . . . disappeared.

 

If Billie didn’t know any better, she would have said Venetica had “Blinked”. But Billie hadn’t seen where she landed if she had, only that she had disappeared. And it was well-known throughout the Whalers, that they derived their powers from being in close proximity to Daud. Could Venetica be establishing powers because of her close proximity to Daud, just like everyone else? Or was it something darker?

 

“The Outsider?” She breathed, interest and confusion seeping into her tone. “But what would he possibly want with Daud’s little lover?”

                                                            

* * *

 

Thomas grew uneasy when nothing but silence greeted him from within Daud’s quarters. Venetica was hurt, filled with rage. He should have been hearing screams, sobs, crashes as she destroyed things in an effort to free herself of what she was feeling. But no, there was nothing but absolute silence in the room. His hand itched, moved to the doorknob, but he stopped. She told him to leave her alone, and he knew that he should until Daud arrived back. But this silence . . . it wasn’t supposed to be there. It was unnatural, in a way.

 

“Oh, grow a pair, why don't you?” Thomas muttered to himself before he grabbed the doorknob and pulled open the doors. What he saw, made his heart sink in fear. There was silence, because Venetica wasn’t there.

 

“ _Shit_!” He hissed before he took off for the stairs, thinking Venetica might be in the bedroom, sobbing into a pillow. But she wasn’t there. Nor, was she on the balcony, watching with tear-stained cheeks as the sun went down.

 

“Shit! _Shit, shit, SHIT_!”

 

Heart thudding like a drum in his chest, adrenaline running through his veins, he ran towards the hole in the wall. Catching himself on the broken walls with his hands before he jumped through, he gazed down into the waters below, praying to the Outsider that he would see her body floating there. It was empty, the waters still – undisturbed. He released a breath of relief before a new fear pounced to the forefront of his brain. Where was she, then? Where had she gone?

 

How had she left?

 

All he knew, was that he needed to find her before Daud got back. If Daud got back and figured out that Thomas had allowed Venetica to run off . . . Thomas shuddered. He’d rather get fed to the River Krusts, than suffer Daud’s rage.

 

His heart fell. River Krusts, Weepers . . . oh by the Outsider, he prayed that she was alright. There were many things in the Flooded District that could kill her. He just hoped he could reach her in time.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so fucking stoked for this chapter! Like, seriously, guys, if I don't get a flood of comments after this chapter, I'm gonna be pissed. It's that good. 
> 
> A LOT of things come to light in this chapter. So, not only are some major things revealed, but there are also a couple of set-ups for a future story in this series, as well. Hope you guys enjoy reading this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!
> 
> *Inspiring Song*  
> "Cupid Carries a Gun" by Marilyn Manson

* * *

 

Daud knew something was wrong, on the way back to the hideout. Something deep in his gut – deep in his bones – told him something was not only wrong, but was going to _continue_ to go wrong. Daud had always trusted his gut and his bones. Sometimes, trusting them, he had avoided a bullet in the head, or a bad fall. And this time . . . this time, he knew he would have to be one dumb son of a bitch to ignore the way they were screaming at him. And call his mother a lot of things – a witch, a hoodoo woman, a savage from Pandyssia – she hadn’t raised a stupid son.

           

The feeling only intensified when he finally reached base, and could not find either Venetica or Thomas. One or both of them should be there – it had all been part of the plan. Only thing was, they weren’t. Where they could be, Daud hadn’t the foggiest idea, but the implications terrified him. What if they had been captured on the way back? What if they were stuck? What if . . .

           

His thoughts trailed off as he put a leash on them. Something was wrong. One or both of them were in trouble, with impending danger brewing on the horizon. He knew this with as certainty as he knew he loved Venetica. They needed to be found. As soon as possible.

           

“Search the entire district. Have the men spread out into twos, no more than threes. As much as we like to think we own this district, we don’t. There are still Weepers out there, and enough River Krusts to begin our own pearl farm. Be safe, be careful. You find them, make sure their safe. Afterwards, don’t hesitate to call for backup. We’ll come as soon as we can.”

           

The Whaler trailing behind him as he moved for the hole in his wall, nodded. “Yes, Daud.”

           

“And where’s Billie?” Daud asked, his tone clipped. “I need her to come with me.”

           

The Whaler remained silent for a moment, until, when he finally did speak, his voice was wary. “Forgive me, Daud, but . . . no one knows.”

           

“What do you mean no one knows? _Explain_!” Daud snapped, whirling around to face him, and, for his credit, the Whaler did not shrink from the amount of rage snapping in his eyes.

           

“There’s nothing to explain, Daud. No one knows where she is, because no one can _find_ her! We’ve searched everywhere for her, and she’s nowhere to be found.”

           

If his gut and his bones had been screaming on the way home, they were now shrieking. Shrieking like goddamn banshees, on the tops of their lungs. And Daud . . . Daud felt strangely cold. Almost as if someone had cracked an egg on his head and allowed the yolk and goo to run down his face and body. Billie, nowhere to be found . . . Venetica and Thomas, missing . . . Daud did not like the implications spelled out before him in plain English. Not. One. Bit.

           

“Shit.” He hissed before shaking his head. “Go,” He told the Whaler, his voice edged with fear – shaking with it, in fact. “Go. Go _now_! Rendezvous with everyone and find them as soon as you can! And one more thing . . .”

           

The Whaler waited patiently for him to continue, and for a moment, Daud didn’t think he could. No matter their differences over these past few years – their mistakes, their disagreements, their loathing . . . he couldn’t believe he was about to issue the orders that would soon fall from his lips.

           

“You see Billie out there . . . kill her. Dead as a fucking door nail, you understand? Tell everyone.”

           

The Whaler was silent again for a moment before he slowly, hesitantly bowed. “Yes, Daud. Find Thomas and Venetica. Kill Billie if we see her. Understood.” There was a momentary pause here, before the Whaler continued, more hesitant this time. “But . . . permission to speak freely, Daud?”

           

Daud nodded. “Of course.”

           

“What if . . . what if Thomas and Venetica are . . . are dead. Do you still want us to kill her? Or would you like us to bring her in to you . . . alive?”

           

Daud would admit, the thought hadn’t occurred to him. But a dark part of him grinned and purred in excitement at the thought. Eventually, Daud nodded. “Do whatever you can to bring them back alive, but . . . if they are dead, then yes. You bring me her alive. I’ll deal with her myself then.” Daud shook his head. “Pray that Venetica is alive, Robin. If she’s not, Billie better pray. Because she’s going to get Hell, not hallelujah.”

                                                                        

* * *

 

Venetica awoke to drops of water plinking sporadically on her cheek.

 

She didn’t know where she was, only that she needed to get out. As soon as the smells of stagnant water, death, and decaying wood hit her nose, she knew she needed to get out. She didn’t remember anything after blacking out before she hit the water, but wondered vaguely if this was life after death, if you believed in such a thing. After all, how could she have possibly survived the plunge into those icy depths beneath Daud’s quarters?

 

“Your awake. Good. I wondered when you’d finally join me.”

 

The voice, silky smooth, and soft – almost comforting – reached her ears as she was struggling back to consciousness. Groaning, she carefully placed her hands on the floor beneath her, where she slowly raised herself up into a sitting position. Keeping her eyes closed, fighting tooth-and-nail against the bile that rose up in her throat, the owner of that voice did not speak again until her head stopped spinning, and the sense of nausea disappeared.

 

“You’ll be no doubt pleased to know that Daud and his forces are looking for you in earnest. They’ll no doubt find you before the sun goes down.”

 

‘Where am I?” She asked, her tongue feeling like a swath of cotton in her mouth, and the voice chuckled. She felt a chill go down her spine when she realized that had been the chuckle she had been hearing before her fall. The voice too, was the one who had told her to jump.

 

Hesitantly opening her eyes, she looked upwards, and found herself face-to-face with a large shrine, roughly hewn of driftwood, strewn with bone charms, and which stood in front of a deep purple curtain of the finest velvet. Venetica gawped for a moment, knowing a shrine of the Outsider when she saw one.

 

The sound of bootfalls on the hard-wooden floor beneath her, resounded through the room. After a moment, a young man entered her view, one that made her eyes widen, and a gasp to be snatched from her throat. He was tall, otherwise handsome, with olive-colored flesh and a messy mop of midnight black hair. However, his eyes were nothing but pits of blackness. Personifications of the void from whence he had come. This was the Outsider . . . she was sitting in front of the Outsider himself. She had ever only known Daud capable of such a thing. In a strange way . . . she felt honored.

 

He stopped in front of her, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I saved you, Venetica. Without my intervention, you would have died. You and your son.”

 

“My son?” Venetica spoke, still not really believing her own eyes yet, and the Outsider smiled and nodded. Crouching down, he reached out a beringed hand and brushed his fingertips over her stomach. She instantly recoiled, and he drew his hand back, that same soft smile remaining on his face.

 

“Yes. Daud’s son. He will be strong. And powerful. He has quite the future, I must say. It shines very brightly. Just like his father’s had.”

 

Rising to his feet, the Outsider turned his back to her. “I knew Daud’s mother, you know. The night Daud’s father took her under cloak of night from Pandyssia, and stole her back to his ship, she called to me. With fingers broken and bleeding, she carved a whalebone in my name. Beseeched me to rescue her. Do you know what I told her, when I came to her, Venetica?” Turning around to gaze at her again, the Outsider continued to smile. His smile was different this time, though. It was soft no longer. This one, was the smile of a man who knew he could mold nations within his hands. “I told her to go him in his cabin while he slept. Take off her clothes, and fuck him. I told her to kill him afterwards, but not kill the baby he would put inside her. Even then, when he was nothing more but a baby in his mother’s womb, I protected Daud. Just like I will protect _his_ son.”

 

Venetica opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She didn’t know what to say. She was speechless. The Outsider continued, his smile fading to one of softness again, while a look of sympathy moved to join it. “I also must apologize to you, Venetica, and I do hope you’ll accept it. I am sorry I took your son from you. He was . . . _is_ . . . destined for greater things, but, unfortunately, not with you. He is to be another woman’s son. _Our_ son, has a destiny too.”

 

Swallowing hard, Venetica released a laugh. “Our son? That’s not possible, I . . . Corvo and I . . .”

 

The Outsider’s smile broadened again, became almost wolfish in it’s purpose. “Didn’t you ever wonder why your pregnancy came as such a shock to Corvo and Jessamine when Sokolov announced it, Venetica? And, further, you never wondered why Corvo acted so strangely your wedding night? I mean, wine has often been used as a social lubricant, but you have known Corvo since you were children. Have you ever seen alcohol make Corvo so . . . _maudlin_?”

 

Vaguely, in the back of her mind, Venetica felt something rip. Something that vaguely resembled a curtain separating her from other things . . . things she knew but that was being purposefully kept from her. For the sake of her sanity, for the sake of-of . . .

 

He continued to smile: “I think I performed quite well for you that night, don’t you think, Venetica?”

 

Slowly, she shook her head. “No. No, that was . . . that was _Corvo_ that night, I-I know --!”

 

“Do you?” The Outsider asked, crouching down in front of her again. “ _Think_ hard, Venetica. Corvo was other places that night, wasn’t he? With Jessamine, maybe? Would explain why Jessamine avoided you that morning . . . shame, maybe? Stealing her best friend’s newlywed husband from your bed on your wedding night. But little did she know your husband was in your bed that night, Venetica. Just . . . not the _same_ him.”

 

Venetica’s eyes were wide. Wide as saucers. Her heart beat like a frantic war-drum in her chest, and her lungs felt like they would burst. It wasn’t possible. It _simply_ wasn’t _possible_ . . .!

 

The Outsider leaned in. “I needed a child, Venetica. For purposes you will not understand, and which will not take place for a little over a decade yet, I nevertheless thank you, and apologize at the same time. I know you wanted our son in the end – I felt it when I took him from you. But you couldn’t have him, Venetica, don’t you see? _He was not meant to be yours_!”

 

Venetica remained speechless as he arms flew to wrap around her stomach. This motion was not missed by the Outsider, whose expression softened yet again. “Oh, do not worry. This child is yours and Daud’s one hundred percent. This is _his_ son, you have my word. I only needed you that one time. But don’t worry, I plan to reward you.”

 

“Reward me?” She repeated, almost dumbly, and the Outsider nodded.

 

“Yes. After all, I do owe you for the heartache of feeling your son ripped from you, even though it would have never been your son. In fact, I have two rewards for you. The first is a very bright future for your son, of which I spoke of earlier. The second . . . is this.”

 

Then, quickly, like a striking snake, the Outsider’s palm made contact with the valley between her breasts, exactly over her heart. There was a sharp, burning, cutting feeling, and Venetica clenched her eyes shut as she released a cry of agony. Face set, the Outsider held his hand there for a moment before slowly taking it away. Breathing hard, tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands flew upwards to her chest, only for her fingers to make contact with the slightly raised black lines located there now.

 

It was the Outsider’s mark. She had seen it enough branded onto the back of Daud’s hand, except this time, it was on the flesh of her chest.

 

He smiled. “For protection. You’re going to need it quite soon.”

 

Not seconds after the words left his mouth, there came the bang of a door being kicked open, and a woman’s cruel laughter filled the rooms of the building she was. “Here, rabbit. I have a bone to pick with you, Princess!”

 

Venetica swallowed hard, her heart rate picking up. Billie. How had she found her here when not even she knew where she was.

 

“How am I --?”

 

“Time to earn that mark, Venetica. Make Daud proud.”

 

When she turned to face him, the Outsider was gone, leaving Venetica pitifully alone, and the sound of Billie’s boots on the stairs leading up to her.

                                                            

* * *

 

He didn’t know how, but Thomas had managed to track her to this neighborhood in one of the worst parts of the district. It was raining now, and when he thought about it, the signs were almost obvious – as if they had been planted. Was she alone? Or was someone trying to lead him to her? Whatever it was, he knew he had to find her. _Yesterday_.

 

Stretching out his hand, he blinked onto the next rooftop and immediately drew in a sharp breath as he collapsed against the nearest low wall. His hand flew to clutch his side from within his jacket. When he withdrew it, his hand was bloody. Much too bloody. Thanks to a fucking Weeper, he had been stabbed with a jagged piece of glass when he mistimed a blink and landed into one of their “nests”. He could only imagine the infuriated bark Daud would have sent him upon sight of the poorly timed blink, and took a moment to laugh.

 

“Fuck it all, right Daud?” He breathed before wincing and pulling a little tighter on the makeshift bandage he had wrapped around himself. It didn’t matter if he was wounded or not. Venetica was out there, defenseless, thanks to him. He had to find her, for all their sakes.

 

He just hoped he found her in time before he bled out like a stuck pig.


End file.
